I managed the exchange of partners without error and when Charoleia came back to me could breathe a little easier.
“You look very serious,” she observed as the music changed to a partner dance.
I took her in my arms. “Did you and Temar—” The words were out before I could bite my tongue.
Charoleia arched exquisite brows over limpid eyes. “Is that any concern of yours?”
I felt ashamed. “No, I suppose, forgive me.”
She laughed delicately. “Since you ask, yes we did. But rather more importantly for that young man, we talked long into the night and again in the cool of the morning. I think you’ll find him rather wiser to the differences between love and lust.”
I looked hastily from side to side in case anyone was overhearing this but we were safely isolated in the midst of the circling couples.
“I’d forgotten how tender an innocent can be,” Charoleia continued in an amused undertone. “But I think I convinced him passion alone rarely sustains a love affair beyond first rapture, no matter how hot and strong that flame burns. I think he’ll learn it’s best to temper that charming ardour with friendship.”
Charoleia’s indulgent satisfaction roused my indignation on Temar’s behalf. Then I wondered if such newfound wisdom might help cut the tangle of emotions binding him to Guinalle. “You had to take him into your bed to tell him that?”
“And to show him the delights of the flesh can be enjoyed simply for their own sake,” she replied easily. “Don’t tell me you’ve lived this long without learning that? I don’t imagine Livak would have bedded you otherwise.”
I took up the challenge in those periwinkle eyes. “What would you have done if I’d taken up your offer of such pleasures the other morning?”
“Compared notes with Livak.” Charoleia’s smile was instantly ruthless. “To let her know what manner of man you were, in case she thought different.”
I took a slow breath. “Halice just promised to knock me senseless if I didn’t do right by her.”
“That sounds like Halice,” Charoleia agreed lightly. “We both look out for our friends in our own way. Wait until you meet Sorgrad and ’Gren.”
“That’s something to look forward to,” I said with equal flippancy. “If we get to the end of Festival unscathed.”
We finished the dance in silence and parted in mutual accord. I watched as Charoleia artlessly insinuated herself into a laughing group of Den Breval ladies escorted by various men from a cadet Den Haurient line. Then I went to escort Allin on to the dance floor.
The Imperial Palace of Tadriol the Provident,
Summer Solstice Festival, Fifth Day, Afternoon
Have you passed a pleasant Festival?” Temar could spare enough attention to attempt conversation with Gelaia Den Murivance now that the dance simply required them to advance hand in hand. At least he’d made his initial missteps with the amiable Orilan and various D’Olbriot Demoiselles. “It’s certainly been the most memorable of recent years.” Temar thought Gelaia was about to say something else but they reached the end of the figure and had to turn away from each other. He smiled politely as he swept some unknown Demoiselle around, skirts swirling as he set careful hands on her slim waist. Gelaia raised her fan as they stood waiting their turn to pass down the middle of the set. “Have you made any progress learning the language of feathers?” she asked archly. Temar shook his head. “It has been a busy five days.” Gelaia’s eyes kept sliding away from Temar’s gaze. “There are plenty of people here interested to see what colours I carry. But then no one knows what a D’Alsennin livery would be, do they?”
Temar studied her fan, a spread of glossy crimson layered over darker maroon plumes clasped in a golden handle studded with rubies and softened with a flurry of down. Vivid scarlet tendrils with tufted ends trembled on either side and Temar wondered what kind of bird those came from. He realised Gelaia was looking expectantly at him between glances at the rest of their set. “You carry Den Murivance colours, do you not? Rather than the white plumes you used before?”
Gelaia raised a defiant chin. “Which signifies I have no interest in any other House at present—and none has an interest in me.”
Temar took a moment to catch her meaning. “Messire D’Olbriot will be disappointed.”
“Is he the only one?” Gelaia demanded with some indignation.
Temar took her hand to lead her down the middle of the other couples. “I had barely realised I was being considered as a suitable candidate for your hand. Why am I now so quickly rejected?” Completing the last steps of the dance Temar turned with Gelaia to bow to the rest of the set.
Gelaia fanned herself, faint colour rising beneath her mask of cosmetics. “There are too many complications.”
Temar looked at her in silent expectation.
“I know Toremal, I know how to dance the measures, how to play the games,” she said with sudden forthrightness, pulling her hand free. “You don’t, but you’ve already made dangerous enemies. I’ll marry to suit my Sieur and I’ll manage whatever affairs my new House requires of me, but I’m not ready to play for stakes as high as Tor Bezaemar. I don’t know what else you’re caught up in, and that worries me. You’re laid low with a knife wound and yet sorcery has you healed by the following day. You associate with wizards who pluck a falling man out of the air.”
“I had little choice over any of that,” said Temar, stung.
Gelaia forced a smile. “I do have a choice, Esquire. I choose not to get involved. I’m sorry.”
Temar bowed low and watched Gelaia hurry away to the security of her family. Looking round he smiled blandly at discreetly curious faces before sauntering over to Allin who was sipping a glass of wine, face flushed with pleasure. “May I have the honour of this next dance?”
“Let me catch my breath.” Allin puffed out her cheeks inelegantly.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Temar asked curiously.
“Oh, I’m determined to,” said Allin with a glint in her eye. “Poldrion can loose his demons on these patronising women if I don’t, especially that charming Den Rannion Demoiselle over there. She tells me how very old-fashioned my dancing is.”
“Your steps can scarcely be less up to the moment than mine.” Temar was about to continue but a flurry of activity turned every head towards the throne room door and the entire vast space fell as silent as an empty shrine.
Jainne the chamberlain’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke into the expectant hush. “Tadriol, called Provident by the grace of his peers and Emperor by the will of the Convocation of Princes.”
Temar realised he was badly placed to see anything going on but he wasn’t about to draw attention to himself by moving. Movement spread in slow ripples from the far side of the room, the nobility clearing the floor to stand arrayed against the walls. Emperor Tadriol walked into the centre of the vast room. He wore plain breeches beneath a full-skirted coat of the same bronze silk brocaded with black. A wide collar of knotted gold links around his shoulders carried a central pendant of a mighty golden bull, head low and brandishing defiant horns. A narrow band of square-cut rubies set in gold confined the simple frill at his shirt collar. Matching stones shone on the brooches catching back the cuffs of his coat, revealing bracelets of thick gold chain adorning his wrists rather than lace. Each of his fingers bore a different ring in a mismatch of styles and gems that could only come from an extensive collection of heirlooms. The Emperor made a slow circuit of the floor, his pace never varying, his slight smile widening a touch as he made a brief half bow to each Sieur.