There was a very fine line between bold and ridiculous.
Suiden’s eye closed again. “I see.”
Chapter Thirty-four
The invitation from my Flavan cousins said “rout” and it was decided that my dress uniform would be acceptable. Javes returned from his shopping trip with new yellow gloves, yellow silk handkerchiefs, Habbs, and a lightweight cape, dark blue with a blue silk lining and fastened by black braided frogs across the chest—and not a quiz glass in sight. The captain also brought a barber back with him, as my neglected hair reached below my collar. Now, shaved, trimmed, and fully dressed, I checked my image in the full-length mirror. I spun around, watching in satisfaction as the cape flared out, to view the back. As I stopped, the barber took advantage of me standing still and whisk-brushed my shoulders clean of clippings and imaginary lint.
“Just like my sisters,” Jeff said, watching me.
I ignored him as I turned to the side.
“And a cousin of mine. He’s also a priss and his wife has to fight him for the mirror.”
“Jealousy,” I said, “is an ugly thing.”
Lord Esclaur called for me in his open carriage and we rode to my cousin’s house with Jeff once again as an outrider. The night was sharp edged from the light of the full moon and, as we entered the square, I could see that the Flavan house took up one side. Marveling at such a large place for one family, I asked Lord Esclaur how big Flavan’s principal seat was.
“Oh, very large. Very large, indeed. The main estate includes not only plantations, but three substantial towns too.” The lordling settled into lecture mode. “Now your uncle’s wealth is more concentrated in the City. Chause owns several commercial properties and is silent partner to many a merchant.” We joined the queue of carriages snaking towards where the guests were alighting. Up ahead I could see huge torches at the house’s entrance and frowned. Even in provincial Freston we had oil-wick lamps, so it was very strange to see torches in cosmopolitan Iversly.
“No, torches aren’t common at all,” Lord Esclaur said to my query, also frowning.
When we reached the front entrance of the Flavan house, I stood, waiting for the servant to open the carriage door—only to sit down again as I got a good look at his outfit. I had thought that his livery looked strange, but put it down to the flickering torchlight. But it wasn’t livery—the servant was costumed to look like an ogre from a popular children’s pantomime, complete with fur loincloth and spiked club. And bare feet. He winced as he trod on something as he stepped up to the carriage, flinging open the door and hefting his club. “Who dares enter my master’s house?”
The same lines from the same pantomime.
“I don’t—”
“My lord, we are holding up the line,” Lord Esclaur said as he rose. “Indeed, we shall beard the wicked sorcerer in his lair.”
The bloody hell I would. I settled back into the seat squabs. “I’m not—”
Lord Esclaur kicked my ankle and I yelped. “Oh my, leg cramps again, Lord Rabbit? Well, once you get out, you’ll be able to stretch.” He grabbed my arm and hauled me up, much stronger than he affected to be. “You are the king’s cousin,” he hissed in my ear. “Act like it.”
The house was done up just like the sorcerer’s lair, with fake rats, ravens, and spiders on huge webs dangling from the ceiling. Esclaur and I joined the line of guests waiting to be greeted, and up ahead I could see the gallant Locival, with the broadsword Lion’s Heart resting on his hip. By Locival’s side was the fair princess Beatel (plumper than usual) whom he rescued from the Sorcerer Slifter’s foul plots and nefarious schemes. Her long golden tresses were braided and beribboned, reaching nearly to the ground, and suspended from a gold chain on her forehead was the Pearl of Chastity. Behind the couple hung a tapestry sunrise, representing the new dawn, for by their kiss and troth of true love, they broke the evil spell that held the kingdom of Heusterand enthralled in perpetual night.
“Ho, cousin! Esclaur!” Locival raised his helm visor, revealing Lord Teram underneath. “Isn’t this splendid?” He held out his hand in welcome.
I sensed Esclaur drawing back his foot and so I reached out to clasp Teram’s hand. “Grace to you and good evening, Teram. Yes, it’s something. Though I am surprised. I didn’t realize that this was a masque.”
“My lady thought it up after we had sent your invitation,” Teram said.
I looked at Lady Isalde underneath her blond wig, but she said nothing.
“And I said, ‘Why not?’ ” Teram continued. “It’ll be fun!” He waved over a servant, this one made up as a hunchback, who had a basket of black silk dominos. “Choose one!” He waited until both Esclaur and I had slipped a mask on, and then slapped my back. “Enter in, my lords, but ware the sorcerer’s traps!”
We bowed and went past him into the party proper. The interior was as darkly decorated as the entrance, and servants dressed as the sorcerer’s minions mingled with the costumed guests. Food tables were set along a wall and were adorned with fake (I hoped) human and animal skulls sporting fat candles. Any desire to eat faded fast.
“It is a flexing of muscle, Rabbit,” Esclaur said, catching my bemused look. “Jusson is able in one day to set up and host a massive reception in honor of an ambassador that most aren’t too sure about. Teram wants to show that he has the same pull.”
Great, another faction. Then I remembered Gherat and Teram standing together at the reception, and wondered. “But Jusson is the king,” I said. “Of course they will come when he calls. If they don’t, either they’re in trouble or the kingdom is.”
Lord Esclaur shrugged. “True, my lord.”
A servant (this one with fangs) walked up to us, and Esclaur took two glasses from the tray that was decorated with toadstools and spiders, handing me one. “But Flavan has forty direct lines back to the first king, Iver. No other House outside of the king’s can boast that. Chause comes close with thirty-two, and his son, because of his wife, has thirty-six. Still, should Jusson’s House fail in the near future, Flavan will be ahead in the throne sweepstakes. Even now Teram tends to think he’s so close to royalty as to make no difference.” He took a sip, made a face and looked for a place to put the glass down. “It must’ve turned in the heat,” he said, his frown deepening.
I sniffed at my wine and, with another glance at the lighted skulls on the food table, decided to ditch my glass also. “Cousin or not, I’m leaving if I see any black candles.” We were the only ones not in some sort of costume from the pantomime: There were villagers, doyens, Beatel’s sisters, Locival’s quest companions, and the blind storyteller who always showed up when Locival became hopelessly muddled. However, as the story took place in the north where more clothing was not only fashionable but necessary, sweat glistened as it ran down faces and necks, and more than one woman paused by open windows and doors with covertly loosened bodices and discreetly lifted skirts, courting breezes. I began laying bets with myself as to who’d be the first to faint.
“’ Well met,’ my lords,” someone said over my shoulder.
Refusing to utter the greeting used (and overused) in the pantomime, I turned—and froze at seeing a masked Slevoic standing in front of me. Then he moved and what little light there was gleamed on the silver strands in his hair. Not Slevoic then.
“As I live and breathe, it’s Gherat,” Esclaur drawled. He lifted his quiz glass and scanned the Lord of Dru’s outfit. Esclaur’s brow rose. “Not in costume?”
“No,” Gherat said pleasantly, “I leave the dress-up to others.” All signs of his earlier rage were gone—and my hackles rose. His blue eyes were colorless in the dimness as he looked at me from behind his domino and smiled. “Oh, don’t worry, Lord Rabbit. I don’t hold you responsible for your captain’s actions. Besides, I’ve better manners than to start a brawl in Flavan’s house with one of his guests.”