“My lady mage, may I have the honour of escorting you?” Allin was holding herself with self-possession so rigid I wondered if she was breathing. I winked at her and she relaxed enough to give me a little smile. That was a relief; I didn’t want her fainting on me.
“Come on, Cas.” Velindre slipped her arm through his and it was hard to say who escorted whom up the wide stone stair.
“That’s a very elegant dress,” I remarked to Allin as we waited for the chamberlain at the door to admit each couple. The watered damson silk flattered her mousy colouring, and with luck wouldn’t clash too badly with her inevitable blushes.
Innocent delight lent an unexpected appeal to her plain face. “Demoiselle Avila had the maids turning out every wardrobe in the residence until they found something to fit me.”
I looked at the assembled ladies of the Name. The gown had probably come from Demoiselle Ticarie’s closets, given the expert cut to disguise a short-coupled figure. Allin was lucky D’Olbriot ladies didn’t run to height like Den Hefeken or willowy girls like Tor Kanselin.
“Your cards, my lady, my master.” We showed the chamberlain the folded pasteboard we each wore tied to our wrists and were duly ushered into a stylish salon.
“This is very impressive,” said Allin in faint tones.
“They say the floor’s inlaid with wood traded from every corner of the Old Empire and the Archipelago,” I told her with a friendly smile.
The floor’s pattern of circles and arcs was nicely balanced between rational restraint and exuberant display. Not that we could see much of it between the skirts and soft dancing shoes of the assembled nobles. The walls showed the same transition between older extravagance and later restraint, single fronds and blossoms moulded in the plaster rather than the intricate swags and garlands of an earlier age but still bright with gold leaf burnished to a delicate sheen. Vast double doors in the far wall would open in turn to the Imperial ballroom when Tadriol was ready to welcome his peers.
Temar had stopped to look up at the ceiling, heedless of people coming in after us. Plaster panels high above our heads were painted with the finest interpretations of ancient legends that the artists of the day had been able to offer the first Tadriol. In the corners, Dastennin with his crown of seaweed and shells was pouring out the seas between this realm and the Otherworld, while opposite Halcarion hung the moons in the sky before setting her diadem of stars to brighten the darkness. The animals of plain and forest knelt before Talagrin, garlanded with autumn leaves. Drianon, a sheaf of wheat in one arm, was bringing trees into blossom with a sweep of her other hand, while flowers bloomed in her footsteps.
Between each of these scenes other gods traversed the twin realms of existence in delicately painted ovals. Arimelin spun the dreams that might reach this world from the Other, Trimon raised his harp with music to echo through the Shades and beyond while Larasion summoned the wind and weather that knows no boundaries. On the one hand Ostrin healed the sick whose time to leave this realm was not yet come, and on the other he welcomed those about to be newly born, handing them the cup of wine that would wipe away any memory of their sojourn in the Otherworld.
“Impressive but none too subtle,” remarked Velindre, sardonic eyes on the centre panel, where the circle of Saedrin with his keys, Raeponin with his scales and Poldrion with his ferry pole stood equal in their authority. Lesser figures ringed the gods, echoing their stance and archaic dress.
“Are those actual portaits?” Avila studied the distant figures.
“Of the Sieurs of the day,” I confirmed.
“Do you suppose they remembered Saedrin’s grant of rank brought them duty as well as privilege?” Temar speculated pointedly.
“Shall we move on?” I suggested. “We’re blocking the doorway.”
The large room was already crowded; Messire invariably timed his arrival to impress the greatest number of people while spending the least time possible in idle chatter before any festivities commenced.
“Are you committed to any dances?” Allin was nervously fingering her own card.
I shook my head. “It’s not really customary for chosen men.” But I wasn’t the only one wearing livery. There were a few proven here and there, moving with easy familiarity among the nobles, well-dressed wives on their arms. I tried to imagine Livak making polite conversation about the latest Toremal gossip while I discussed some question of trade or dispute at the Sieur’s bidding.
“Why does the Emperor want us here?” Allin wondered aloud.
“A very good question,” I agreed. This really wasn’t my place, was it? I’d taken my turn outside the doors as part of a Duty Cohort when the honour and burden of keeping the Festival peace fell to D’Olbriot, but I’d never expected to be a guest inside.
“Temar’s not going to lack for partners.” Allin sounded resigned. D’Alsennin was with Camarl by a side-table where ink and pens were laid out. Several D’Olbriot Demoiselles were noting their initials on his card and inviting him to return the compliment. A lackey hovered close by with an anxious eye.
Allin fiddled with her dance card. I saw faint regret on her round face. “Do you like to dance?”
“Yes,” she admitted, round face colouring a little. “That is, I used to, back home.”
“Don’t wizards dance in Hadrumal?” I’d never really thought much about how mages might enjoy themselves.
“Sometimes,” Allin replied. “But there are precious few musicians, and most wizards dance as if they’d their boots on the wrong feet.”
“It’s one of the things that make a mage-born army an impossibility.” Velindre came up on my other side, her clear tones cutting through the well-bred murmur. “Nine out of ten wizards seem incapable of holding a beat so they’d never be able to march in step.”
I smiled at her wry tone but dubious expressions around us suggested few others appreciated the joke.
“Planir, as you might expect, is remarkably light of foot and dances a very pretty measure,” Velindre continued, with unmistakable sarcasm. “But then, he’s so often the wizard that tests the rule.”
“You think rules should be observed?” I queried. “Weren’t you Otrick’s pupil? He bends rules until they splinter.”
Velindre’s face hardened into unflattering angles. “At least those rules were the same for everyone, not one set for Planir and his cronies and another for the rest of us.”
“Have you any news of Otrick?” Allin peered round me with wide, anxious eyes.
“No.” Fleeting brilliance rose and vanished in Velindre’s hazel eyes. “And it’s time Planir faced up to the truth. He cannot use this Kellarin business as the excuse for continually ignoring Hadrumal’s concerns.”
“There’s Casuel.” Allin seemed more concerned with matters in hand than quarrels in distant Hadrumal.
The mage was edging his way apologetically through the crowd, clutching his card in one sweaty hand. “Has anyone asked either of you to dance?”
“Are you offering?” Velindre smiled innocently.
Casuel hesitated just a breath too long. “Naturally, if you would do me the honour. Who else has asked you? Of what rank?”
Velindre showed him her unmarked card. “You have your choice of dances, Cas.”
He frowned. “Do you think Esquire Camarl would agree to me asking some of the ladies from the lesser families? From cadet blood lines?” The wizard looked around the crowded room. “Where is he?”
I scanned the throng but couldn’t see Esquire Camarl at all. What I could see were unmistakable knots of allied families. Firon Den Thasnet was standing with two Den Muret Demoiselles while his sister hung on the arm of the Sieur Den Rannion’s youngest brother. Close by the Sieur Tor Sylarre was smiling as he chatted with an elder Esquire Den Muret. Even given the increasing press of people, they were keeping an emphatic space between themselves and Gelaia Den Murivance as she laughed with her brother Maren and Jenty Tor Sauzet. Further round the room Orilan Den Hefeken was talking to her affianced Esquire Den Risiper, other Esquires of both houses agreeing dances with a knot of minor Den Ferrand and Den Gennael girls. Beyond the stony-faced Sieur Tor Priminale stood with his extensive array of cousins in an unapproachable circle.