“And even Maitresses of a Name have to go to the merchants, since none of them will risk hawking such fragile and precious wares from residence to residence,” I nodded.
“Is there a feather merchant where Dirindal would meet you?” Temar demanded of Channis.
“Masters Anhash and Norn,” Lady Channis replied with a mocking tone. “Simply the only place for plumes this Festival, my child.” Faint optimism sounded in her voice for the first time. “Where every noble customer is shown the choicest selection in a private room.”
“It has to be worth trying,” I urged. “Outright enmity between D’Olbriot and Tor Bezaemar will serve no one.”
“True,” agreed Lady Channis. “But if we’re to try this madness, we’ve precious little time. Battle lines between the Houses will be drawn by nightfall.”
“Then send the Relict Tor Bezaemar some message enticing her to meet you at once, my lady.” I ticked off points on my fingers. “We need you, Avila and Velindre at the feather merchant’s before Dirindal arrives. Then we three need to convince the Emperor to listen to us.” I looked at Casuel, whose face was a potent mix of eagerness and apprehension. “And we need some way of knowing when exactly Casuel needs to work his magic”
“Allin could send word,” suggested Temar.
“I can’t see you getting an audience with Tadriol, a scant half-morning before the biggest social event of Festival.” Lady Channis wasn’t trying to make difficulties, but that was true.
I looked at Temar. “You’ve not met the Emperor yet, have you? This isn’t the ideal time, but I don’t suppose anyone will gainsay you if you ask to introduce yourself. I’m sure you could claim a Sieur’s right of immediate access to the Imperial presence.”
Lady Channis was crossing the room to an open writing case laid on a side table. “You could cite that before the courts later on, if the Palace acknowledges you as such.”
“If that is what we need to do, to get before Tadriol, that he may see the magic’ Temar was looking nervous. “But you will explain it all, Ryshad, when we see Tadriol. This is your idea after all.”
“He hasn’t the rank to propose something like this to the Emperor!” Casuel was appalled.
“And he’s sworn to D’Olbriot,” Lady Channis was writing rapidly. “You owe no allegiance, Temar, for all your close ties with the House.” She sealed her note with perfumed wax.
“You’re defending your own Name and your people in Kellarin,” I reminded Temar. “The Emperor will respect that far more than any claim I might make to disinterest. We’ll both be there to back you up, but you have to be the one doing the talking.”
“You do realise Dirindal may not come?” Lady Channis looked up. “If she does, she may have nothing to say but platitudes and nonsense. You risk looking an utter fool, you do know that?”
“Compared to the risks we’ve run over the last few days, my lady, I think we can take this chance,” I assured her.
The Imperial Palace of Tadriol the Provident,
Summer Solstice Festival, Fifth Day,
Late Morning
Cheer up, the worst they can do is refuse to let us in.”
Temar tried to smile at Ryshad’s attempt at reassurance but saw the doubt shadowing the older man’s eyes.
“With you so impressive in your livery and me in all this finery?” he retorted with considerably more bravado than he felt. “Never fear, I do not intend returning to Avila with my tail between my legs.”
“All we need now is Cas,” Ryshad muttered. The carriage halted with a lurch that redoubled the nervousness plaguing Temar’s stomach. What if the mage was delayed? What if he’d been unable to find Allin and Velindre?
“So this is the Imperial Palace,” Temar said softly as he stepped down from the carriage. It was a fair cry from the robust fortress Nemith and his forebears had held in trust as a last bulwark of noble power. Waist-high walls meant every passer-by could see the extensive gardens, though the narrow spaced railings were topped with vicious spikes curved in outward-facing claws. A small gatehouse of brilliant white stone gave a small detachment of liveried men-at-arms some shade from the sun hammering down from a cloudless sky. They were the only people in view.
“Where is everyone?” Temar asked, bemused. “Do Tor Tadriol not gather as a family for Festival?”
“Not here they don’t. This place is purely ceremonial. Their residence is over beyond the Saerlmar.” Ryshad fell into step a pace behind Temar. “Remember, you’re not asking the guard to let you pass. You’re telling him you’re going in.”
“Not without Casuel,” retorted Temar. About to wipe sweaty palms on the skirts of his coat, he realised that would mark the silk and reached for a kerchief. “Where is he?”
“Over there.” Ryshad sounded relieved but Temar silently cursed the mage. If he had a little longer perhaps he could prepare himself a little more. “What in the name of all that’s holy is the fool wearing?”
Ryshad disconcerted did nothing to soothe Temar’s qualms but the sight of Casuel in a long gold-brocaded brown robe raised a reluctant smile. “That is the style the mages of Hadrumal wear, I believe, when they feel the need for ceremony.”
“It’s the style everyone’s great-grandsire wore on his deathbed hereabouts,” muttered Ryshad. “Oh well, it’ll distract the guard if nothing else.”
Casuel was walking rather too fast for the length of his garment, the cloth catching around his knees and ankles. “Are we ready?”
“You tell me,” Temar demanded in sharper tones than he’d intended.
“Lady Channis and Demoiselle Tor Arrial are at the feather merchant’s,” Casuel confirmed hastily. “Velindre and Allin are on their way, and Allin will send word as soon as the Relict arrives. If she arrives.”
“Lady Channis seemed certain she would,” Ryshad reminded the wizard.
“I wonder what was in that note.” Realising the mage was even more nervous than he was put perverse heart into Temar. “You look very formal.”
“Velindre suggested people will take us more seriously if I reminded them I’ve the power of Hadrumal behind me,” Casuel said with a sickly smile that soon faded. “I’m sure she’ll claim the credit for this with Planir, if it works. You’ll put him right, won’t you?”
Temar stifled a curt response. “What now, Ryshad?”
“We have to be with the Emperor when we get Allin’s message,” the chosen man frowned. “It won’t take the Relict long to get to the feather merchant, and we can’t risk not hearing all the conversation.”
Temar saw the others were both looking expectantly at him. “What do I say to the guards?”
“You’re acting as Sieur of a House,” Casuel said acerbically. “You need explain yourself to no one, least of all a gate ward.”
Temar drew a deep breath and walked towards the iron gates. Ryshad’s solid footfalls behind him were some reassurance, though Casuel’s hesitant steps made him worry the mage was going to tread on his heels at any moment.
“Fair Festival.” Ryshad took a pace to the side to address the sentry. “Make your obeisance to Temar D’Alsennin.”
“Fair Festival, Esquire, my duty to you.” The man bowed briefly, eyes never leaving Temar’s face.
“Fair Festival.” Temar smiled graciously. “I wish to see the Emperor.”
“Are you expected?” asked the guard politely.
“As senior surviving member of my House, I claim the rights of a Sieur,” Temar said just before Ryshad’s prompting cough. “That includes immediate access to the Imperial presence.”
The guard bowed again. “Indeed.” Face impassive, he beckoned a sworn man waiting alert in the doorway of the gatehouse. “Escort the D’Alsennin to the Steward.” He nodded at Ryshad and Casuel. “Do you vouch for your companions?”
“Naturally.” Temar realised the guard was still looking at him expectantly. “Chosen man Ryshad Tathel, of D’Olbriot, and Casuel Devoir, wizard of Hadrumal.”
The man’s expression did not flicker. “They may enter on your surety.”