Free Closer to the Chest by Mercedes Lackey Page B

of satisfaction.
I think I’ll see if Mags is willing to find out about these people for me.
If there was anything going on, she was sure Mags and his gang of streetwise children, or his system of informants, would ferret it out.
    Finally the High Priest held up a hand to forestall any more questions. “I have taken up far too much of your time, Majesty,” he said, still as smooth and cold as polished stone. “I will take my leave. We thank you for welcoming us so graciously to your land and your city.”
    And with that, he bowed himself out, leaving the room with his silent entourage for the entrance of the last of those scheduled for an audience today.
    â€œLord Semel Lional and family!” announced the page at the door, and suddenly the little Audience Chamber was . . . very full.
    So full it took Amily a moment to sort everyone out, as Lord Lional made the introductions of his family to the King, the Prince, and by broad gestures, including Amily and her father as well. No snubbing here!
    First, of course, Lord Lional; a handsome, vigorous man of late middle age, his hair still defiantly black, his eyes a warm brown, with a decided chin but a smiling mouth, a nose a little too big for perfection, and animated brows. Amily liked him immediately, and from the relaxed look of her father’s eyes and shoulders, so did he. The King obviously knew him already, and it was clear he was delighted to see the man.
    Lord Lional—indeed, his entire family—were dressed formally, in matching outfits made of excellent deep brown and cream linen, with ornamental embroidery and cutwork of deep golden yellow at the neckline and hems. Not in the first mode of fashion, the cut of the mens’ tunics and the womens’ gowns were almost a decade out of date. This made perfect sense, since Amily knew that Lord Lional had made a name for himself in the Northeast, far from Haven and the Court.
    His wife, Lady Tyria, smiled often and warmly; she looked as if she might be distantly related to her husband—a cousin, perhaps—as they had similar features, although her nose was small and tip-tilted. Amily liked her just as much.
    The four children all had raven hair and similar features, although it was a little difficult to see what the two youngest would grow to look like. Amily set them aside in her mind for the moment, and considered the two eldest.
    The oldest boy—Hawken—was handsome enough to be popular with girls, but not so handsome that he was likely to be conceited. And, in fact, his expression suggested a personality much like his father’s with just enough youthful rebellion to make him interesting. But the eldest girl!
    Helane, was her name, and she was nothing short of stunning.
    Everything about her was perfect—and it was none of that too-still, too-poised perfection of a girl who is
far
too aware of her beauty and reckoning to take advantage of it. She was animated; she was clearly excited to be here, a little intimidated at being in the presence of the King and Prince, but drinking in everything eagerly. As for her looks . . . Amily had rarely seen a face that could be described as “heart-shaped,” but hers certainly was. Her complexion was flawless, her cheeks the exact color of wild rose petals, and her rosebud of a mouth a slightly deeper hue. Her eyes were huge, meltingly brown, and guileless. Her raven-wing hair had been done in a style Amily had never seen before—braided into a single fat plait down her back, but with a black and cream linen covering bound over and around it. The plait nearly reached her knees; unbound, her hair surely would pool on the floor at her feet. Amily was fascinated; how long did it take to brush out? To wash? To
dry
? That was probably the reason for the cover, to keep that mane as clean as possible.
    And her body was neither thin nor plump, but once again, perfect for a girl who surely was athletic and