The Golden Key (1996) by Melanie Rawn & Jennifer Roberson & Kate Elliott

Author:Melanie Rawn & Jennifer Roberson & Kate Elliott [Rawn, Melanie & Roberson, Jennifer & Elliott, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Painters, Magic, Family, General, Romance, Fantasy, Fiction, Painting
ISBN: 9780756406714
Publisher: Tor
Published: 1996-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

"As I say, she's very clever." Bracing herself against a jounce of carriage springs, Leilias wished for some light so she could see Mechella's expression and choose her words accordingly. "Her cunning is something you must be ready for. I might be able to help if I knew what you plan."

"It's enough that you came with me tonight, Leilias. I'm very grateful."

"I still wish you'd tell me what you intend."

With a kind of fatalistic grimness, Mechella replied, "I intend to help my husband celebrate his birthday, of course. Why do you think Otonna spent all day letting out the seams of my best gown?"

Tazia's tenure as Mistress had yielded not only the caza in town but a small manor house built especially for her. Caza Reccolto was aptly named, for it was the final harvest of her twelve years with Arrigo. She was the official owner, but on her death it would revert—like Corasson and all the other properties given to Grijalva Mistresses through the centuries—to the family. Caza Reccolto was about a hundred years old, a half-timbered building in the shape of a T for Tazia; Arrigo's idea of a tribute, Leilias supposed. The crossbar was the front of the house, fully three hundred feet from one side to the other; the rest of the letter was invisible to the rear. As Mechella's carriage turned into the drive, Leilias saw that the place was ablaze with lamplight at every window like a Sanctia greeting the Birth of the Son on Nov'viva. The music of gambas and gitterns and flutes could hardly be heard for the laughter echoing out the front door—open, even though it was winter, to let in enough cold air to offset the heat of all those lamps and all those dancing, drinking, laughing guests. As Mechella and Leilias descended from the carriage—to the slack-jawed befuddlement of the footmen—Mechella nodded regally to the youth who leaped forward to assist her up the steps. Leilias gulped down a lump of apprehension and followed.

Once inside, any other woman would have been compelled to spend at least ten minutes repairing the damage of an hour's drive to her hair, clothes, and makeup. Mechella, golden and glowingly beautiful, merely paused in the hall to glance in a mirror and tweak a curl back into place. She wore a gown of raw silk, woven gold in one direction and silver in the other. The point of the low-cut bodice was decorated with a fabulous Tza'ab pearl brooch, drawing the eye to perfect shoulders and full breasts. Tiny pleats provided the necessary fullness at the raised waistline. Soft curls cascaded down her neck, held up by the dainty tiara of pearls that had been her father's wedding gift. The gown shone like one of those antiquated suits of armor on display at Shagarra Barracks; Mechella was well-girded for war.

Leilias watched her walk calmly toward the source of the loudest music and laughter. The rustle of silk skirts sounded like the warning of distant thunder; the subtle glitter of the material was like flashing gold-and-silver lightning.

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