The Mystery Ring
copyright Sherwood Smith 2002

The Duke of Savona had to turn his face away to hide his laughter when Meliara stuck out her hand and proclaimed, "Look at my ring!"

But the urge to laugh left him when he saw the apprehension in Meliara's eyes as she glanced at Tamara.

Russav turned a fast look Tamara's way. There was the poisonous smile he detested, and had ever since they were squabbling children. He knew she'd learned that poison from her horrible mother (the single murder Galdran had commited that no one had really regretted, including her own family); he had tried for years to sting, tease, and kiss it out of her, with no success. He feared, sometimes, that she hadn't just learned it, but had inherited it.

Meanwhile, everyone else was laughing at the countess's social blunder, some cruelly, others with enjoyment. Trishe, as always the peacemaker, made admiring noises as if such proclamations were everyday, and said, "Where? Who?"

"Yesterday," Meliara replied, her brow faintly puckered as she sent one of her apprehensive glances Russav's way.

He smiled at her, trying to reassure her, and Tamara, her blue eyes glaring his way, asked in a goading voice, "Which finger?"

Savona turned away. You have no right to display affront, he thought. You're courting a king now. Remember?

But as a social arrow Tamara's shaft flew right past its intended victim. There was no mistaking the innocent bewilderment in Meliara's face. Not even Tamara could think that the Tlanth countess was being crude enough to parade a new lover by exhibiting his gift, and sure enough, Meliara wiggled her fingers and said, "The one it fits best." Then her mouth rounded as she clearly, but too late, thought about possible arcane meanings.

Trishe, meanwhile, gave a puzzled frown, and bent over Meliara's hand. "I've seen it before," she said. "I know I have . . ." She went on about the ring, and Russav, knowing very well where it had come from--and annoyed with himself for having forgotten that Trishe had studied old gem styles when she was younger--decided to shift attention from the ring to himself.

"Who is it from?" he asked, trying to sound heartbroken.

Tamara's mouth thinned. "Of course she cannot tell," she stated, outrageously trying to dredge up the mystery lover implication again. "But . . . perhaps a hint, Countess?"

Trishe and Nee both looked sick, and Savona, quite annoyed with Tamara--why duel with a beginner, who never dueled back?--tried to find something to say that would shift attention again, but Meliara beat him to it.

"I can't, because it's a secret to me, too," she said, adding, "The best kind, because I get the ring and I don't have to do anything about it!"

That raised a laugh from everyone except Tamara. Savona glanced just once at that hateful expression narrowing her eyes and thought: reap what you sow, my darling (for it didn't escape him that she was exactly as beautiful as ever even when she was being hateful) as he offered Meliara his arm, and began to pour out a lot of nonsense about flirts and lovers until he saw Meliara's tension ease. His reward came when she laughed, that free and real laugh that had nothing of the well-modulated court titter in it. It was that sudden laugh, and the way her expressive face seemed to glow, that had first enchanted his sober cousin, who looked distracted as he followed along. Poor Danric, probably thinking about where he was going to find the funds to shift more troops north along the border, from which increasingly disturbing reports had begun to appear . . .

Later that evening, he found Danric busy at work in the archive.

"Come on, you've missed supper again," Savona said. "If you don't drop that pen and come right now, I'll tell your mother on you."

Danric's smile was absent. "Tell me," he said, tossing over a sheet of paper. "What do you make of this?"

Savona looked down. In carefully inscribed letters he saw the words: "The gifts are beautiful, and I thank you, but what do they mean?"

And below that, plain as day: "Meliara Astiar of Tlanth."

"Tell her," Savona said, dropping the letter back onto the table.

"I can't," Danric replied, sitting back. "It seemed so good an idea at the time to give her that ring. But I'd forgotten that there were those in court who might recognize it from my great-grandmother's royal portrait."

Savona said, "And if they do?" Tamara's name seemed to hover in the air, unspoken by either of them. It had become a matter of honor, somehow, though neither would have thought such a thing possible years ago, when they were boys. They both knew why Tamara pursued Danric--and they both knew how Russav felt about her, and always had. Yet until she dropped her pursuit, they couldn't quite discuss it.

Danric shook his head. "I'm not thinking about any of us." The slight emphasis on 'us' included their old friends, all of them grown up under Galdran's beribboned grip. "I'm thinking of the Merindars. If they perceive any possible interest from me in her, they'll gnaw her bones."

"Yes, I'd forgotten them." Russav whistled the trumpet-notes for a military charge, then said, "Your dinner awaits. I suggest you send her a white rose--for your intentions are entirely honorable--and leave it at that."

"I will," Danric said, looking relieved now that a decision had been made. "Now, about that dinner . . ."