Read Online The Laurentine Spy by Emily Gee - Free Book Online

of him as soft.
    “He’s rather lethargic, don’t you think?”
    Marta’s flush deepened. “Lethargy in one’s husband is not a bad thing.”
    So that’s why you want to marry him.
    A naval officer approached. His face was square-cheeked above the black and maroon uniform. He wore a Captain’s epaulettes. “Noble Marta, may I have this dance?”
    Saliel watched as the pair took their places on the dance floor. Was this the husband the Consort had chosen for Marta?
    The musicians began to play. The melody was somehow different tonight. She heard a slow, remorseless beat beneath the dance tune. Spycatcher , it said. Soon.
    How soon—
    “Noble Petra.”
    She looked up.
    Lord Ivo stood before her, slack-mouthed. His bow was languid. “Do you care to dance?”
    “Not tonight, thank you.”
    There was a moment’s silence. Saliel watched the dancers move stiffly across the marble floor.
    “Are you quite well, noble Petra?”
    She jerked her gaze upward. For a second she almost imagined sharpness in Lord Ivo’s eyes, then he blinked and the illusion was gone.
    “I’m perfectly well. Why do you ask?”
    His shrug was careless. “You don’t seem yourself tonight.”
    Fool. If Lord Ivo could notice a difference in her manner, then so could others.
    “I assure I’m in perfect health.” Her voice was Lady Petra’s, polite and precise and faintly edged with irritation. “However, if I must dance with you to convince you of that, so be it.” She stood.
    Lord Ivo blinked again, lazily. “Very well.” He held out his arm.
    Saliel made sure to thin her lips slightly in annoyance before she placed her hand on his sleeve.
    “I spoke to the Consort today,” Lord Ivo said as they walked onto the dance floor.
    “So did I.” Saliel shivered, remembering the icy wind, the blackness of the Consort’s eyes, the sudden shock of the woman’s words. Spycatcher.
    Slow-moving couples parted to let them through.
    “I look forward to our union.”
    Here on the dance floor she was prey, trapped. Dancers surrounded them. Panic tightened Saliel’s throat. She swallowed, and tried to concentrate on Lord Ivo’s words. I am a Corhonase noblewoman. My name is Lady Petra. I am betrothed to a man I dislike. “Do you?” she said, her voice cool.
    “Yes.” Lord Ivo’s smile was wide and amiable. “We are well-matched.”
    Her awareness of the throng of dancers faded slightly. It took effort not to frown at him. “Well-matched?”
    “Don’t you agree?”
    Saliel walked a few paces in silence, and then said, “The Consort is known to choose wisely.” To her ears, her voice sounded flat.
    “Yes.” Lord Ivo’s eyes gleamed in the reflected light of the chandeliers.
    Is he laughing at me?
    Saliel shook the notion off. She smiled stiffly and followed Lord Ivo’s lead as he moved through the steps of the dance. He ambled, like a man half-asleep.
    “You will put off your mourning clothes soon.”
    “Yes.”
    The dancers seemed to glance sideways at them as they passed, their eyes sharp and suspicious. Saliel’s chest was tight, her throat. It was difficult to breathe fully. Fool. You imagine it. No one suspects.
    “Our betrothal is to be announced next week.”
    “Yes.” The glittering, watching eyes made her heart beat too fast. Saliel swallowed. She forced herself to look down at the red and black squares of stone she stepped on, to concentrate on the dainty dance slippers and polished boots of her fellow dancers, not their eyes.
    “Are you quite well, Lady Petra?”
    Her gaze jerked up. Lord Ivo was looking at her, an expression of mild inquiry on his slack-jawed face.
    “Of course,” she said, and realized that she held his arm tightly. She released her grip on his sleeve. “If I appear distracted, it’s merely because I’m thinking about...our betrothal ceremony. I’m trying to decide which dress to wear. Lavender or brown. Perhaps you have a preference? The brown is a shade similar to cinnamon and the