Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

So that was the difficulty. “We talked of Duenne. I hope to visit next summer.”

“I’m surprised your father would allow you to travel so far alone.”

I don’t know if he will, she thought, but she had no wish to talk about her father.

“You like books, I heard,” Galt said after a moment. “Do you have a preference in authors, or are you simply an enthusiast?”

“I … I find it hard to say which.”

“Because you are young? Or because you do not trust your opinion?”

Because I do not trust you, she thought. Galt seemed to catch something from her expression, because he did not repeat the question. With a firm hand, he spun her through the couples in a breathless rush. When they reached the farther side, he brought her to an abrupt halt and held her close. For a heartbeat, it was as though they were alone in the hall. His scent made her think of winter fires. Against her will, she felt the first stirrings of attraction.

“You see,” he said softly, “I can dance as well as any baron.”

And then they rejoined the dance as though nothing had happened, only Therez found it difficult to follow his lead or answer his questions. Her pulse beat too hard and too fast. So did his, but whether in attraction or anger, she could not tell. That she could not tell bothered her nearly as much as Galt himself. What had happened between him and Marina Bartos? No, she didn’t want to know. She only wanted the dance to end so she might get away from him and his jealousies and his strange intent gaze.

To her relief, Lev Bartov danced with her next. They chatted about markets and trade and the weather, and he asked her opinion of music. After Lev came an interlude of song. The dancers paused while Paschke’s lead soloist performed an old ballad, accompanied only by a drummer, softly keeping time. Therez noted how Baron Eckard smiled, and how Baron Mann himself appeared different, so entirely absorbed in the music. A secretive, misleading book, indeed.

When the dancing resumed, Therez partnered first with Willem Leffler, then Klara’s brother Imre. Therez half expected Galt to approach her again, but he had disappeared, apparently. She saw him much later, walking with her father from another room. Both looked pleased. That could only mean they had reached some key agreement. Perhaps even the shipping contracts …

I am a merchant’s daughter after all, she thought, and laughed to herself.

Well after midnight, the guests began to take their leave. Eckard, one of the first to depart, spoke graciously to her parents and her brother. Pausing by Therez, he took her hand and bowed low. “Pleasant reading,” he m

urmured.

Mann followed shortly after, offering pretty compliments to Therez and her mother and the promise of a visit to her father. Once he had left, the other departures came faster, and Therez’s attention was consumed by the exchange of compliments and the final good-byes.

The last person to go was Theodr Galt, who lifted Therez’s hand to his lips. “Mistress. A delight to make your acquaintance. I look forward to our next encounter.”

His lips were warm, and he held her hand longer than absolutely necessary. She felt a tremor run through her, and a lingering frisson of magic. Danger, said her instincts. Whatever this man gives comes at a price. It was with relief she saw him turn to her mother and father.

At last the hall was empty. Therez breathed a tired sigh and wished her parents and brother good night, but when she turned toward the stairs, her father raised a hand. “Therez, come with me. I have something to discuss.”

Therez exchanged a surprised look with Ehren. Her mother shook her head. A warning? Had something gone amiss? But there was no time for questions. Her father gestured impatiently for her to follow him. Just as she passed through the salon doors, she glimpsed Ehren leaning down to listen to something their mother said.

Petr Zhalina led the way back through the parlors and the dancing salle, and into the wing where he kept his offices. At his private study, he unlocked the doors and motioned for her to go inside. With growing apprehension, she took the seat in front of her father’s desk. The scent of roses and violets drifted through a partially open window. Fainter still a whiff of památka flowers.

Her father set the lamp on a high shelf, where its light reflected from the dark windows, and from the large sand glass that occupied one corner of the room. He took a seat behind his desk. He was about to give her bad news, she could tell. The autumn contracts in suspense. Ehren’s return to university delayed, and her trip to Duenne canceled. But she had thought he looked so pleased earlier, when he and Theodr Galt had reentered the dance salle.

Her father ran a hand over his eyes. He did look tired, with shadows beneath his eyes, as though he had not fully recovered from his illness last spring. Then with a shake of his head, he reached for pen and paper. His hands, long and slender like Ehren’s, moved with swift assurance as he dipped the pen into the ink, tapped away the excess, and wrote. Therez saw the name Theodr Galt written in small square letters.

“I’ve come to a decision,” he said. “You remember the talk we had last winter.”

She nodded. Petr Zhalina had summoned his daughter into his office to discuss marriage, or rather to deliver a dry summary of his expectations and her obligations. Even so, he had explicitly said that such duties would come after she turned seventeen.

“I’m pleased to say that the opportunities I foresaw have arrived, and sooner than I calculated. I’ve made my choice for your husband, Therez. Theodr Galt. Tomorrow we negotiate the terms and sign the papers.”

Reaction was swift and unthinking. “But Papa, you said—”

Her father struck a line through Galt’s name. “You dislike my choice?”

“I … I don’t know him well enough to like or dislike.”

He waved a hand to one side. “You will. You have no reason not to.”

Point decided, no argument, said his tone. Therez let her breath trickle out. “I expected to spend the next year in Duenne. You surprised me.”