“It’s all this talking that’s stoking up resentments,” I frowned. “But it’s the Emperor’s privilege to open the dance, and he’s nowhere to be seen.”
“But I am so ignorant of modern courtesies,” said Temar breezily. “My lady?” He offered a hand to Charoleia.
She shook her head, smiling. “I don’t care to be quite so noticeable, Temar.”
He grinned and I realised whatever he felt for Charoleia was a fair cry from the prickly devotion he’d lavished on Guinalle. That puzzle had me tongue-tied just long enough to stop me calling Temar back when he sauntered off, idly swinging the card on its ribbon at his wrist.
I watched a touch nervously as he tapped Orilan Den Hefeken on one shoulder. The Demoiselle greeted him with a ready smile but that faltered as he spoke. She turned to appeal to her Sieur. Camarl strolled over as Temar spread beseeching hands to Orilan. Several other people drew near and a new murmur rippled outwards. We watched as the Sieur Den Hefeken sent a footman hurrying to the chamberlain, whose face was betraying considerable strain. Master Jainne was standing by a circle of musicians silent at the far end of the ballroom, pipers with single, double and double-reeded instruments of differing sizes and curves backed by lutanists and bowed lyres.
“Oh look, Cas,” said Velindre brightly. “Your brother’s leading the music. What an honour for your family.”
The mage’s strangled reply was drowned beneath a lively chord. Temar led Orilan Den Hefeken into the centre of the floor and four other couples rapidly formed a set behind them. I hadn’t seen Messire return, but he appeared on the far side, Lady Channis graceful on his arm. Assorted scions of Den Murivance, Tor Kanselin and Den Castevin followed suit. Kreve Tor Bezaemar promptly led one of Tor Sylarre’s innumerable daughters out and Firon Den Thasnet followed with another.
“Competing over who dances the neatest figures should prove harmless enough,” said Charoleia with satisfaction. She took my hand and I found myself walking out to join the nearest set. She curtsied with consummate grace and I bowed, listening hard for the beat of the music, counting silently until I could move to one side with the other men. Charoleia swept past me with a sensuous whisper of perfumed silk and we both turned to join hands and follow the set in a series of rapid twists and turns, dropping and swapping hands as we went. I hadn’t danced since Winter Solstice and that had been a servants’ affair where errors were greeted with laughter rather than the contempt I could imagine here. Livak fitted into the lower halls well enough, but with the best will in the world I couldn’t see her dancing these complex measures with a tenth the grace of Charoleia.
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.”