"I'm with you," he said softly, and shut the door.

chapterIV.

ARTEMISIAFITZ-LEVI HAD NOT YET BEEN ALONEwith her betrothed. She did not mind; it made everything they did together seem like a play, performed for an appreciative audience of ever-changing watchers. She was always well dressed and the sets were beautiful. Lord Ferris also was well dressed and knew his part to perfection. The Crescent Chancellor gallantly handed her into her carriage under the eyes of dinner or ball guests; he courteously escorted her and her mother to shops, and even to the theater, while other girls looked on in envy; he monopolized her at balls, and said very nice things about her where everyone could hear. She appeared at parties decked out in jewels that he had sent her, and he was always sure to tell her how well they became her. They were to be married in the spring, before people left town for their country estates. Sometimes Artemisia wished this engagement could go on forever.

More of her other friends had now been spoken for. They drank chocolate together, a very worldly-wise group of young ladies, casting knowing glances at the less fortunate and freely dispensing advice. Whatever their fortunes, though, Lady Artemisia knew, as did they all, that she had taken the prize. Ferris was rich and he was powerful; he was still fairly handsome, and clearly he adored her to distraction. When she was with him, she felt witty and beautiful, drunk on the same fevered wine she had known the night of the Halliday ball.

Tonight, though, she was conscious of a vague unease. Oh, the room glittered, the people glittered, and the jewels round her neck and on her fingers, all gifts of her betrothed or lent her by her mother against her inheritance. Nothing pleased her, though, not the rare sweets and drinks or the swirling patterns of costumed dancers.... It seemed to her that the envious looks were fewer, that the handsome young men looked only once at her, saw her as taken and did not look again, no matter how rich her jewels or how low-cut her gown. Lord Ferris had arrived late, pressed by business of the Council, and though he apologized handsomely and thenceforth never left her side, she found herself wishing he had never come at all.

She made him fetch and carry for her, changed her mind a dozen times about her shawl, her drinks, whether she would dance or no. It gave her less pleasure than she'd expected, knowing she could command one of the chief nobles of the city, the head of the Council of Lords. It changed nothing, really: they were still the same drinks, the same dances.

Lord Ferris kept his temper admirably. She knew he was doing it, and even that made her cross. For his part, he tried flirting with her, praising her, until finally he realized that only direct address would work.

And so he took her aside and said, "My dear. Tell me what's wrong. Has someone insulted you? Or injured you in any way?"

To her own amazement, Artemisia burst into tears.

"Dear me," Ferris sighed. "It's not your mother again, is it?" She giggled through her tears. Her handkerchief was soaked; not surprising, since it was a tiny piece of paper-thin fabric surrounded by waves of useless lace. Lord Ferris handed her his: a reasonable linen square, lightly scented with something agreeable, some fine, expensive scent twined with something else she could not name. She held it to her nose, praying it was not getting too red. He reached a hand up to hers, as if he would take the kerchief from her, then he touched the tip of her nose, instead. The tip of her nose, and then her ear.

"It's the waiting, isn't it?" he murmured. "It's hard on your nerves. I had thought best to give you time to enjoy your Season and enjoy lording it over the other girls...but there is too much of a good thing.

Perhaps we might move up the date?"

His breath was warm on her face. The other scent on the handkerchief was Lord Ferris himself. He was so close that she could see the pinpricks of beard that made up the shadow of his cheek.

"What say you, pretty lady? Shall we be married right away?"

"No!" she cried, but it came out a whimper. "No, I cannot-"

"Nerves," he breathed, "that's all. All this fuss..."

She drew a deep breath and exclaimed passionately, "I wish I were not getting married at all!"

Her father would have laughed, her mothertut-tutted, but her intended did neither of those things. She felt the chill as he backed away. "No? Be careful what you say, my dear. It is certainly within your power to break off the engagement if you choose."

"I-" The wet handkerchief was tight in her hand.

"But if you so choose, you must give good reasons. Neither of us wants to look like a fool."

"I don't-I didn't-"

He smiled at her, the fond lover once again. "Of course you didn't. Nerves. It will all be over soon."

She sniffled into the kerchief. Of course he was right. She didn't know where she was these days, with everything changing so.

"I'll find a maid to help you wash your face."

"Don't let Mama know-"

"Certainly not. This is between the two of us." But secretly he resolved to give her fewer gifts and more attention.

THE DUKE NEVER CAME TO WATCH ME PRACTICE,and as a rule, Marcus didn't either. He wasn't interested in swordsmen. When he showed up in the middle of one of my lessons, I knew it had to be important. Master Drake and I were running through a complicated sequence of attacks and counters that had defeated me twice already-like the worst kind of patterned country dance, where if you fall out of step you have everyone piled up on top of you-and I hated to stop just when I felt I was getting theflow of it set in my bones. Besides, I wanted my friend to see me carry off something really hard, so I just edged my back closer to Marcus and asked, "What?"

"Our man's back," he muttered. "Headed out the West door."

"Go follow him!"

"Can't. I'm waiting on Tremontaine. Just came to tell you-"

"Can't, now! Dammit, Marcus, you made me miss my stroke!"

My swordmaster laughed. "Avoid distracting onlookers. Very important, Lady K. First rule of dueling.

No, no, keep going, don't stop. That's it, come at me in four, from the passe, and...now!Good, very good...."

I picked up the rhythm again, and moved across the room after Phillip Drake, my concentration suddenly perfect with Marcus watching. I wasn't even counting under my breath. It was as if I had become the sword and knew just what to do without thinking. I finished triumphantly, my point at Master Drake's chest. Both of us were breathing heavily. I heard Marcus give a lowwhew! of approval. He said, "I didn't know you could do that."

I felt very much like Fabian at that moment. "There's a lot," I said, just for the pleasure of saying it, "you don't know about me."

Master Drake rapped on my blade. "Enough," he said. "Remember the rule: in any given fight, the weaker sword can win through luck or sheer accident. Let's do it once more, to prove it wasn't accident."

It certainly wasn't that, but it took me three more trials before I fell back into the unthinking rhythms of the match. By the time I emerged from practice, dripping and happy, I had forgotten all about the mysterious nobleman, and he was long gone.

AYOUNG GIRL ABOUT TO MAKE A GOOD MARRIAGEis at the center of her world, and may perhaps be forgiven for thinking she is more important than she actually is, or wiser. Since crossing her often leads to a spasm of pre-bridal nerves, older relatives may choose to indulge her until the wedding.

Relatives closer to her own age, however, are less inclined to make allowances. Already Artemisia's brother Robert had thrown a shoe at her. Her cousin Lucius Perry, who had dropped by to find Robert gone, soon wished he hadn't.

"Lucius, wherewere you last night? I particularly wanted you for my little supper party, to sit next to Lydia's cousin Harriett who is just in from the country and knows no one yet."

"How delightful for me." Lucius yawned. "I sent a note; something came up."

"I don't believe you. You're always late these days, or tired, or missing. Are you up to something?"

"If I were," he said, "do you think I'd tell you?"

There was an edge to his voice she wasn't accustomed to. "Now, now." She cocked her head to oneside in a charming and feminine fashion. "I think I know what the problem is. You need to settle down, that's all. Find a nice young lady who will care for you and all will be well."

He snorted rudely. "Someone like Lady Lydia's country cousin? You must not think much of her, to want to fob her off on the younger son of a younger son with no money and no prospects."

"My dear," she said gravely, "do you think that is all that marriage is about?"

"And it's not as if the Perrys are depending on me to carry on the name. Both sides of my family breed like rabbits already-a fact surely not lost on your prospective bridegroom."

"Lucius Perry! How can you say such things? Rabbits, indeed. Marriage is a sacred bond of two loving hearts."

He looked hard at her. "Oh, it is, is it? And do you love Lord Ferris?"

"I-well, I don't know yet. I hardly know him, do I? But he admires me to distraction. I admire him, too, of course."

"You hardly know him."

"That will change. I feel sure we will be blissful together. Oh, Lucius, you must not be hard on yourself. I feel certain that the right woman-"

He gritted his teeth. "Artemisia. Come back in a year and lecture me on the joys of the married state.

Right now, stop preaching about things you know nothing about."

"And what is that supposed to mean, pray?"

"Nothing, nothing at all."

"No, Lucius, I want to know what you mean."

"Nothing. I'm sure your parents have taken every precaution to ensure that your bridegroom is all he should be. Your dowry's substantial, everyone knows it, and the lawyers will have drawn up an excellent contract. As long as you produce a son for him quickly, Lord Ferris should never give you a moment's unease."

Artemisia gasped in shock. "That is vulgar talk, Lucius Perry," she managed to say. "If you mean to imply that Lord Ferris is-isbuying me, somehow-"

He shook his head and turned away. "Nothing. I'm not implying anything. I'm sorry, Mia; I-I lost a bet earlier; something I can't afford to lose, and I'm out of sorts, that's all. I'll try to be more enthusiastic."

Lucius Perry never spoke about himself if he could help it. Even a month ago she would have accepted the peace offering for what it was. But he had unnerved her, and she attacked. "You have no right to walk in here and criticize Lord Ferris!" she shrilled. "He is the Crescent Chancellor. Everyone approves of him! He's an important man! Who are you, anyway? A nobody-you said so yourself."

"Right." He stood up. "Fine. I'm nobody, he's everything, and it's nothing to me whether you go into this marriage with your eyes open or squinnied tight shut." Artemisia lifted her chin. "What are you babbling about, Lucius?"

"You don't know him very well, that's all. Ask him, sometime, about the balls and parties you're not invited to."

She raised her chin even higher. "There are no balls I'm not invited to."

"Yes, there are. Ask him."

"All right, then, I will."

He saw the haughty terror on her face, and thought of another woman he knew who had been this young, once, and faced the same choices with even less to go on. "No, don't," he said gently. "Look, I spoke out of turn, and I'm sorry. I should not have said anything."

"No, you should not."

"But, coz-" He took her hand in his; not the light touch of the ballroom, but tight and earnest.

"Artemisia. You do understand, don't you? The difference between a man's world and a woman's world?"

Tears trembled in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. There are parts of a man's life-any man's life-that you're expected to ignore. Men have secrets, and it's best to let them keep them."

"Do you have secrets, Lucius?"

"Oh, many," he said. "If you were my wife, it would be particularly important that you knew nothing about them, or pretended, anyway. But we get along, don't we? I'm sure Lord Ferris is no better or worse than any other man you could have chosen. I'm sure he'll make a fine husband."

"I know he will." She dabbed her eye before a tear could fall. "Lucius," she said in a small voice, "you mustn't bet or gamble again if losing makes you so unkind. Promise me you won't."

He kissed her hand, and patted her head, but promised nothing.

chapterV ONE DAY MY UNCLE SAID TO ME,"SABINA ISplanning a Rogues' Ball. I think you should come. It will be instructive."

Wouldn't you know it? My first real city ball, and it was something roguish. Still, "Shall I wear a ballgown?" I asked.

"Not for this."

The last thing on earth I wanted was to make my city debut dressed like a boy. "Can I go masked?"

"You won't need to go masked. No one you know will be there. No one, that is, that you could admit to knowing to the sort of people you would go masked against. It is, after all, a Rogues' Ball." He flicked the invitation's stiff paper between his long fingers, then glanced at it again more closely: "Or,Rouges'

Ball, as she's put it. If the woman can't spell-and believe me, she can't-she should get someone else to do her writing for her. She's invited half of Riverside, and everyone on the Hill who still finds her amusing. I wouldn't miss it for anything. We have a bet on how long it will take a fight to start. Dress for action, and don't carry a purse with any money: I can guarantee those will be the first to go, with all the cutpurses in attendance."

I knew who Sabina was by now: a professional mistress. She seemed to know my uncle well. She sent him chatty letters from her house in the Old City, which he sometimes read aloud to me and Marcus.

Sabina claimed always to be bored, bored, bored-bored by the lovers, bored by the duels, bored by the gold and the silk. But she kept at it nonetheless; the letters were full of her conquests and extravagances. I confess I was shocked by them: what she paid for a bracelet would have put a new roof on my mother's house; what she paid for bed-hangings would have bought the woman a small farm. It seemed to me that if only Sabina could be bothered to put some aside, she could retire very nicely from the conquests and find something that did not bore her.

Now she was hiring a guildhall to have room for all her inviteds, along with the inevitable drop-ins. The duke said to me, "Come armed."

There was no question in my mind but that I would take my master's sword. For form's sake I consulted with Phillip Drake, and to my surprise he was against it. "Old-fashioned," he said. "Look at the hilt."

"It's perfectly balanced."

"I'm not saying it's not a good sword; nice, flexible steel and all, but plain, lady, plain." He smiled. "I think we could persuade the duke to part with some funds to make a good showing at your first ball."

I shook my head, though I was tempted for a moment. "There's my New Year's knife for pretty.

Although...a new scabbard would be nice. I don't think anyone would notice the hilt," I wheedled, "if it were tucked in a green leather scabbard worked with gold and scarlet, do you?"

Phillip Drake said, "I'll tell you what: you break my guard three times with the new double-pass I taught you, and I'll see to it you get any scabbard you like."

In any given fight, the weaker sword can prevail through sheer accident. But not in a drill, not three times in a row. I did it, though, and got my scabbard. So that was all right. THE NEXT TIME THEY MET, AT A CARD PARTY,LORDFerris was determined to let Lady Artemisia feel her consequence.

"You will be pleased to know," he said, "that half the young men of the town aren't speaking to me, because I have carried off the jewel that might have been in one of their caps."

Knowing her friends were looking, Artemisia could not resist tapping the Chancellor's arm with her fan.

"Really, sir?" she said frostily. "Then how is it that you find yourself invited to so manyfascinating parties without me?"

He said, "No party is fascinating without you, sweet. And, as you well know, no one would dare to invite me anywhere without my intended."