Masquerades - Kate Novak [85]
"You are the talk of my household," Lady Nettel announced, "with the halflings hailing you as Ruskettle's warrior companion, the servants raving about your street theater antics, and the youngsters speculating about you and Victor."
Alias smiled politely, hoping she would not blush, but Thistle looked horrified. "Grandmama!" she said after a gasp.
Grandmama held up a hand, and Thistle hushed. "Young people are always gossiping, trying to figure out where everyone around them fits into society. Such a waste of time."
"Because the people themselves don't even know where they fit in?" Alias asked.
Lady Nettel smiled and shook her head. "Because we weren't meant to fit into society. We must be what we are, and let society fit around us. That is how I have always lived my life. And you?"
"That's always been my choice," Alias agreed.
"Like your tattoo?" Thistle asked, her words starting to spill over each other. "You chose that. Did it hurt? Do you regret it?"
"Thistle," Lady Nettel spoke in a warning tone.
"How else will I know?" Thistle insisted.
Lady Nettel sighed. "Please excuse her. We had an argument that had nothing to do with you."
"That's all right," Alias said. She turned to Thistle. "My tattoo was not really my choice. Someone branded me when I was a captive. It didn't hurt, because I was unconscious at the time. It's not a regular tattoo, though, but magical. I cannot regret it, since I had no choice in its existence, but it can be very tiresome. It is not something one can remove like a dress or jewelry. It is always there, the same design, the same color. Once I hated it, but no longer. It reminds me of a special time in my life and of the bonds I share with my brother and my sisters and with my father."
"I see," Thistle said, more thoughtful. "Thank you for telling me."
Lady Nettel raised her glass to someone behind Alias. A moment later, Alias felt a hand on her shoulder as Victor Dhostar took a position beside her.
"Lady Nettel," Victor greeted the elderly noblewoman, adding a deep bow. He winked at Thistle and asked, "How are you, Dervish?"
Thistle colored deeply at the nickname and tried unsuccessfully to appear too haughty to notice the young Dhostar.
Lady Nettel chuckled. "Congratulations on your new vessel, Lord Victor," she said. "It hasn't sunk yet under the weight of Westgate's pride. It must be well-constructed."
"I'll pass your compliments on to father," Victor answered.
"Hah!" Lady Nettel replied. "If those compliments belong to anyone, they're yours. For all his meddling, Luer hasn't peeked in a shipyard for six years. Can't take the dust. This is your victory, young man, and everyone knows it."
Victor bowed his head wordlessly.
"Well, I'll let you steal away with your guest," Lady Nettel said. "I'm sure she's not here to entertain me." With that, she moved off with Thistle, followed by a wake of other guests all vying for the Thalavar matriarch's attention.
Alias offered Victor some cheese from her plate. The ship was rounding the harbor entrance now, and everything on the ship cast two shadows, one from the stern light, the other from the lighthouse. Looking across to the Westlight plaza, Alias saw a group of people scurrying around in the twilight, setting up some sort of display on the northern shore of the peninsula.
"What's going on out there?" she asked Victor.
"Ah, well, that's a surprise. You'll just have to wait and see," the nobleman said.
Alias nodded. "I shouldn't ask, but how did your business go with young Urdo?" the swordswoman queried.
Victor grinned conspiratorially. "We discussed how easy it was to make an apology. Taking my cue from my father, who apologized for his arrest, I thought I might just apologize in advance in case Haztor happens to fall overboard and no one notices. Should he falter in his attempt to swim ashore or, gods forbid, should