“Oh, Kandryl. He’s very sweet and attentive. As a younger son, he has to be. He does have some redeeming qualities.”
“Such as?” I raised my eyebrows. “Being willing to accede to your wishes and desires?”
“I did say he was sweet, but enough of that.”
“I note that Dulyk did not choose to escort you.”
“It was decided that Alynat should have that experience, especially if there might be the possibility that you would be here.”
“Oh?”
“I told them that you were certainly among the suitable choices for a husband. You’re handsome and talented, and there is no way that you could ever inherit any of the holding. I intimated that such might be of interest to them, rather than . . . other possibilities.”
“You flatter me, but certainly the High Holding of Ryel is expansive enough for more than a single heir.”
“Oh, indeed, but not if Ryealte is to remain unchallenged in its scope and grandeur. More than a single heir?” Her glance was withering, yet there was something behind it.
“Or an heiress?” I suggested blandly.
“That is beyond jesting, Master Rhennthyl.”
“It has happened,” I pointed out. “I do believe that Junaie D’Shendael inherited her sire’s holding.”
“It is exceedingly rare, as I am sure you know.”
“That I do.” I laughed. “Yet if you were such an heiress, I’m certain that you would know what to do far better than either Dulyk or Alynat.”
“Let us not talk of the impossible.”
“By all means. About what possibilities would you like to converse?”
“I leave that to you, Rhennthyl. I’m but a mere woman, who can do little about possibilities, or even impossibilities.” Her eyes fixed on me intently, once again, if but for a moment.
“Tell me. What does your younger cousin do? Does he hunt? Or draw? Or play the pianoforte? How does he amuse himself while he’s avoiding your father and Dulyk?” I kept my tone light.
“He rides, or he takes his racing trap over hill and dale.” Iryela laughed. “He’d like everyone to think that he’s reckless, but he’s rather good with both trap and mount.”
“On the main roads?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Where else could he frighten the unwary?”
“I see.”
“And Dulyk just follows your father, learning everything he can?”
“My brother is a dutiful son, Master Rhennthyl.”
“How indeed could he be otherwise?”
“How indeed.”
The music began to die away.
“Rhennthyl . . .” There was a pause. “Should you wish another dance, please do not make it the last dance. I prefer not to save anything to the end. That is so predictable.”
“I would never wish to be predictable. When one is an imager, predictability can be . . . unfortunate.”
“Unless it is unthinkable. The unthinkable is often predictable, but because it is unthinkable, it becomes unpredicted.”
“Circles within circles.” I smiled. “Will you introduce me to your sire?”
“I thought you would never ask.”
I escorted her toward her parents, although she was actually leading me.
Ryel was an older and gray-haired version of his eldest son, except that his blue eyes were glass-hard, and the thin lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes were the laugh lines etched in his face by years of cruel jests. His wife nudged him, and he half turned.
“Sir,” offered Iryela. “I thought you might wish to meet Master Imager Rhennthyl.”
“I appreciate the opportunity to see you in the flesh, sir.” I smiled pleasantly, inclining my head to that degree that was just short of insult, according to Maitre Dyana.
“And I, you, Master Rhennthyl. For a comparatively young master imager, you have a certain presence.”
I kept smiling. “You honor me, sir, but I fear that my presence pales in your light, and in view of your reputation.”
“Do you hear that, Irenya?” Ryel inclined his head to his wife. “Master Rhennthyl would tie me up in my own reputation. What a terrible thing to do.” His eyes took me in for a moment, and there was the slightest of nods. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Master Rhennthyl. Oh, and by the way, my condolences on your brother’s accident, and my best wishes for his speedy recovery.”
I managed not even to look startled. “I appreciate your words, sir, and we all wish him an uneventful and healthful recovery. Thank you.” I inclined my head just enough. “I will not intrude further.”
He smiled, and I smiled, and I turned as he did, so that he could not obviously dismiss me.
After I left Iryela and her sire, I caught sight of Madame D’Shendael, near one of the sideboards. She had requested a dance, and her husband was talking to another High Holder, though he did stand beside her.
I moved toward her, then inclined my head. “Madame, might I have the honor of a dance?”
Her eyes took in my black formal dress and the silver imager’s pin. “You might, Master Rhennthyl.”
I took her hand, and we began to dance. Her husband scarcely seemed to notice that she was gone.
“Has your sister yet read On Art and Society, Master Rhennthyl?”
“She recently got her own copy, but I’ve also read most of it. There is a copy in the Collegium Library.”
“Yes, there would be, buried in among all the other treatises on the organization of society. And how does a master imager who must work with the Civic Patrol as a common patroller reconcile such an attempt at lofty prose to the mundanity of each day?”
“What we do, I believe, madame, is not all that we are, nor all that we could be. Reading opens one’s eyes to the possibilities.”
“Ah, yes, to the cruelty of possibilities seldom realized. Did you know that Vhillar had three small children?”
“No, madame, but I do know that the more than ten junior imagers whose deaths he arranged might well have had small children, had they lived long enough to reach that point in life that Vhillar had already attained. I know that Emanus might have enjoyed a few more years of life.”
“Would you call his life enjoyable, truly, Master Rhennthyl?”
“I could not speak to that, madame, but he did tell me that he had no regrets about what he had done. It was clear that he referred to giving up his position in the guild.”
“Just that?” Her voice was casual.
“I do not know how he managed to arrange matters, but he was happy to do what was necessary to protect his daughter and to make her secure. Of that I am certain.” That was as close as I dared to allude to the fact that she was his daughter.
“You are rather young to presume that, are you not?”
“I presume nothing, madame. I only listened.”
“He would not have said that.”
“I listened to the words he did not say and combined them with what I could see about his artistry and how he had acted.”
“You will be disappointed in life, Master Rhennthyl. For one so young, you see well beyond what appears on the surface. Few do.”
“I suspect that, madame, and that may be why I am accompanying common patrollers.”
“Emanus . . . he said that, even for a portraiturist, once the painting was begun, hesitation was only an invitation to failure. Imaging, I would think, is similar to portraiture, especially in dealing with the Council or High Holders. You are both portraiturist and imager, are you not?”
“Yes, madame.”
“How would you view his observation?”
“As accurate in every particular. But when anyone, even a High Holder, thinks a portrait has been begun is not always when the portraiturist has truly begun or taken the steps to capture the image.”
“You have an interesting way of interpreting matters, Master Rhennthyl. I do hope that I will see you at the Winter Ball. Your company is far more interesting than, say, that of High Holder Ryel. I saw that you persuaded his daughter to present you.”
“It was convenient, and I thought it the proper thing to do.”