“If she were annoyed, Artifice would be all the more effective in urging her to speak her mind,” Avila observed.
Lady Channis waved her hands impatiently. “How does it help to have Dirindal admit anything to me, however incriminating? It would be my word against hers, and I’m hardly an impartial witness.”
“The Emperor could see and hear it all if a mage worked the right magics,” I told her. “Dirindal would never know.”
Lady Channis gaped at me.
“Scrying is mere sight without sound.” Casuel was frowning in thought. “It could be done with bespeaking, but you’d need another mage with her ladyship as well as one with the Emperor.”
“We’ve Allin and Velindre to call on,” I pointed out. “Either or both could help. Planir won’t disagree, if it means we can head off this strife.”
“I would have to be close at hand, to work the Artifice on Dirindal,” said Avila slowly.
“Dirindal will never betray herself in front of three witnesses,” said Lady Channis flatly.
“Couldn’t you be in the next room, Demoiselle?” I persisted. “Out of sight?”
Avila thought for a moment. “Yes, I believe so. Master Mage?”
Casuel nodded eagerly. “A short distance would be no hindrance.”
Lady Channis shook her head in disbelief. “It’s a fascinating fancy, Ryshad, but it’s completely irrational. How could we ever do it? Dirindal will suspect eyes and ears behind every curtain and closed door if she comes here, and I’m certainly not going to Tor Bezaemar’s residence. I’d be seen, and when word gets out of hostility between the Houses that would prompt all manner of rumours weakening Guliel.”
“Can’t you meet on neutral ground?” Temar asked impatiently.
“A dressmakers?” suggested Casuel hopefully. “A jewellers?”
“Such people come to us, Master Devoir, we don’t travel to them.” Lady Channis’s words were kindly meant but Casuel still blushed to the roots of his hair.
I cast my mind back to my early sworn days attending the minor Demoiselles of the House. Where had they gone to gossip free from the discreet supervision of their elders? “A feather merchant?”
“That’s believable, at least.” Lady Channis smiled wryly. “The cursed things come to grief so easily, we’re always buying them at the last minute.”
“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.”