Imager (48 page)

Everyone has rules; but yours are always wrong.

On Lundi evening, Maitre Dyana dismissed me after lessons saying that she’d taught me what I could learn about poisons and imaging at the stage of life experience I had, an interesting way of putting it, I thought. On Mardi, Master Dichartyn said that he’d be too occupied to see me, except in a dire emergency, for at least a week. I also received a short letter from Mother.

Dear Rhenn,

We all enjoyed meeting your young lady ever so much. She is charming, cultured, intelligent, and beautiful. I can understand your caution, but, as Culthyn said, “Rhenn should be ashamed of himself for making everyone worry so much.”

I strongly doubted Culthyn said any such thing, but it was a convenient fiction through which Mother could chide me for making her worry about my not finding a suitable young lady.

We all hope it will not be too long before we see both of you again. We are considering having a larger dinner for some of our friends near the end of Erntyn, and trust you will be able to join us then. I will send you the formal invitation when we receive them next week . . .

Now that I had found a suitable young lady, Mother couldn’t wait to display her to everyone. But I suppose that was minor compared to what else was happening in the world.

According to the newsheets, particularly Veritum, the situation between Jariola and Ferrum was continuing to worsen. On Meredi morning, the lead story featured a statement by the Ferran minister of state that described Jariola as “a land governed by reactionary landholders who understand nothing of commerce and less of government.” He went on to claim that oligarchs like Khasis III and certain High Holders in other lands were mere parasites on a country’s productive capability, as were worker drones who wanted employers to pay for everything while working less and less. From that alone, even had I not been forced to study Ferrum in more depth by Master Dichartyn, I wouldn’t have had much trouble in determining that Ferrum was what I would have called a mercantile empire.

Other than those events, not much of interest occurred during the week, and, while I was interested in seeing what happened at the Council’s Harvest Ball, and learning what I could from observing, I was far more interested in seeing Seliora on Samedi, even if it happened to be a family wedding.

On Vendrei morning, as soon as we arrived at the Council Chateau, Baratyn gave us a final briefing on the Council’s Harvest Ball.

“As I told you, not everyone will be a councilor or a family member. Each councilor has five invitations, and each invitation is good for two people, usually a couple, but it could be for daughters or sons. In addition, there are invitations to the justices of the High Court of Solidar and a number of other functionaries, including the more important envoys from other lands. You will doubtless see other faces you have seen at the Collegium. Do not speak to them unless they address you. Your function is twofold, to watch for anything untoward and to stop it without anyone noticing”—his eyes flicked to me, momentarily—“and to serve as dance partners for ladies in need, with discretion, or if asked. You will, of course, wear the formal white and gray jackets. You all have one, do you not?”

After dismissing us, he beckoned to me and drew me aside. “One other thing, Rhenn . . . for purposes of the Ball, when guests are announced, in the case of unmarried women you may hear something like Mistress Mearjyn D’Something-Alte. The suffix ‘Alte’ is added so that all know she is the daughter of a High Holder. You should note that whenever possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s not just a formality. It has been known that some of such daughters have asked those who have served as you are serving to dance, and it is well that you know their status. Oh . . . the suffix is also used for unmarried sons as well, but that shouldn’t prove a problem. They won’t be asking you to dance.”

In short, treat them with great respect and charm, I translated, unless you want to be on the bad side of their sire, which is something that the Collegium would prefer not to occur. But then, how could I be on much worse footing with High Holders than I was? I caught myself on that. Being on the bad side of two High Holders would be far worse than having only one wanting to do worse to me than killing me.

We left the Collegium early that afternoon, because the Council had adjourned at noon so that they could prepare and dress properly. From the duty coach, on the other side of the ring avenue circling Council Hill, I noticed the same high-sided and roofed wagon I had seen on Solayi evening. It was the kind that had several small porthole windows. The single horse was the same old gelding, and the teamster was apparently trying to adjust something with the traces, although I couldn’t be sure, but I caught myself wondering what that sort of wagon was doing there, especially twice in a week. If it happened to be there when we returned, I’d let Baratyn know.

The difference between an imager and a councilor is that the first understands the limits of the world, while the second only understands the limits of government.

The duty coach brought us back to the Council Chateau just before seventh glass, and I didn’t see any sign of the old wagon or of anything else out of the ordinary.

The Council’s Harvest Ball began officially at half past seventh glass, but as we had been warned by Baratyn, no one even began to arrive until a quarter before eight. Moments after the first carriage arrived, others pulled up in the drive below the main entry steps, a drive that was normally restricted to councilors alone. Then people began to walk up the outside stone steps and in through the grand foyer past the ceremonial guards and finally up the grand staircase. They took their time on the grand staircase.

“Councilor Hemwyt D’Artisan and Madame D’Hemwyt!” The deep voice announcing the first arrival boomed from a small balding man standing at the left side of the center archway into the great receiving hall.

While people entered and were greeted by the three councilors on the Executive Council, Baratyn and I stood against the west wall just inside the Hall, which was on the south end of the Chateau and effectively occupied the space above the grand foyer. Dartazn and Martyl were stationed along the east wall.

“Councilor Etyenn D’Factorius and Madame D’Etyenn!”

“The Honorable Symmal D’Juris and Madame D’Symmal!”

In less than a quint glass I had begun to lose track of all the names, and in another quint, I was sure I had no idea of all those who were at the Ball.

“In a few moments, when most of the councilors and their guests are here,” Baratyn said quietly, after edging toward me, “I want you to move until you’re along the wall about even with the middle of the dance floor.”

“Yes, sir.” I nodded, then almost froze at the names I heard being announced.

“Dulyk D’Ryel-Alte and Mistress Iryela D’Ryel-Alte . . .”

The names sounded like they were Johanyr’s brother and sister, something I didn’t care for at all, and I moved slightly to the left to get a better look at the couple as they stepped through the central archway into the hall. She was blond, almost white-blond, and petite, if shapely, and wore a gown of silver and shimmering blue, with a glittering silver scarf, trimmed in black. Her brother was a younger and leaner version of Johanyr. Although he was of slightly larger than average height and moved gracefully, there was also a sense of smallness and pettiness surrounding him, although I could not have explained why I felt that.

They vanished into one of the groups of younger people on the east side of the hall, near the sideboards that held various vintages, with uniformed servers behind each.

“Shendael D’Alte and Madame D’Shendael.”

That name caught my attention as well. Madame Juniae D’Shendael could not have been said to be unduly attractive, but rather handsome, with a strong chin and nose, and mahogany hair cut as short as any woman I’d seen in L’Excelsis. Her husband was wiry, shorter, and blond.

“The Honorable Klauzvol Vhillar, envoy of Ferrum, and Mistress Cyana D’Guerdyn-Alte.”

The Ferran envoy coming right behind Madame D’Shendael? Was that just coincidence? And escorting a High Holder’s daughter, when supposedly the Ferrans weren’t exactly fond of the High Holders as a class?

“The Honorable Dharios Harnen, envoy of the Abierto Isles, and Mistress Dhenica Harnen.”

He’d brought his daughter, who looked younger than Khethila and slightly ill at ease.

“The Honorable Herrys Charkovy, envoy of Jariola, and Madame Charkovy . . .”

Apparently, the envoys had arrived at the same time, just after Madame D’Shendael. Given her criticisms of the Council, I wondered who had invited her, and I looked toward Baratyn. “Madame D’Shendael?”

He grinned. “Councilor Caartyl always invites her. It irritates Councilor Suyrien no end.”

Caartyl . . . there was something there, but I couldn’t grasp it for a moment. Then it hit me. Caartyl was the guild member on the Executive Council, and he was the one that the strange factor Alhazyr had visited—a visit that had disturbed Master Dichartyn.

In the background, the orchestra, set on a temporary dais at the south end of the hall, opposite the entry archways, began to play. Baratyn nodded to me, and I began to edge toward my designated station.

A good half glass passed as I watched the dancers, and those moving to and from the sideboards, or standing and talking, holding wineglasses. Dartazn danced past several times with an older woman I did not recognize, perhaps a relation of some sort.

As the orchestra paused between dances, I couldn’t help but notice a slender woman in blue and silver walking in my direction, casually half-twirling the end of a long black and silver scarf. As she drew closer, I realized that she was Iryela D’Ryel. I also had the feeling that I had seen her sometime before, but I couldn’t place where it might have been. How could I have seen her? I kept a pleasant smile on my face and waited for her to pass.

She didn’t. Instead, she stopped and looked at me, closely. “You’re Rhennthyl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Please . . .” She offered a smile that was half wry and half tired. “I’m Iryela, and you’re an imager tertius, at least.” Her voice was pleasant enough, if slightly higher than I would have preferred. “You’re also the one who put my brother in his place.”

I eased full shields into play, if so close to my skin that no one could have detected them, without punching or slapping me. “I beg your pardon?” I also scanned the area around me, but no one seemed to be paying much attention to us. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t—or wouldn’t.

“Johanyr . . . you must remember him?” A tinge of amusement colored her soprano voice.

“Yes, I encountered him several times.” That admitted nothing.

“Encountered—a fair way of putting it, perhaps better than he deserved.” She smiled. “Would you dance with me?”

I couldn’t say no. “I would be honored.”

A faint, delicate, and pervasive floral fragrance came with her as she slipped into my arms when the orchestra began to play and we eased out among the other dancers. Her eyes were a gray-blue that her gown and scarf intensified.

“You’re in great danger, you know?” Her voice was lower, conversational, and as matter-of-fact as if she’d told me that it would rain on the morrow.

“I have the feeling, Mistress Iryela, that I may always be in great danger. Pleasant as it is, dancing with you could also present a danger.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Certainly no more danger than already exists. I won’t ask you to kiss me, nor to marry me. At least, not for a time, and please call me Iryela.”

“I’m not of High Holder background,” I said with a laugh. “Nor do I have the dancing experience to go with it.” She wouldn’t ask for a kiss, or more, for a time? Did that suggest Maitre Dyana was correct, that her father would take his time in dealing with me? Or was it just a part of a more elaborate plan or charade?

“You’re more than adequate, and better than most of your peers, and far more handsome.”

“And you are far more beautiful than yours, as you must know, and possibly more deadly.” But she wasn’t nearly the dancer that Seliora was.

“That’s a compliment I have not heard before. My father would be pleased, but it would be a pity to tell him. I almost might, except that would please Johanyr and Dulyk, and that would not please me.”

Iryela was playing a deeper game than I could discern, but it was clear that she had a purpose, one that I wasn’t even certain I wanted to consider. “Brothers often view matters in a different light.”

“Do you have a sister?”

“I have one. I’m quite fond of her, as I’m certain you know.”

She smiled. “You do me much credit.”

“I suspect I give you less than your due, since you were so easily able to find me.”

“You assume that I was looking for you. Is that not rather presumptuous?”

“I think not, not if I assume that it was not for my appearance or my station or my nonexistent wealth.”

“More and more interesting.”

More and more dangerous. “No . . . you are the one of interest, for so seldom does one of great beauty, position, and charm ever appear in my world.”

“More flattery yet.” She laughed.

“Flattery, yet truth, as you well know.”

“I see no others coming to take me from you, Rhennthyl.”

“That only says that none dare cross your will.”

“Were that it were so.” There was just the tiniest edge behind the laughing words.

When the orchestra paused, I released her and inclined my head.

She returned the gesture. “If you would not mind escorting me back to my younger brother.”

“My pleasure, mistress.”

“Iryela.”

“My pleasure, Iryela.”

Her brother was in a small group with another younger man and a woman slightly younger than Khethila. “Iryela . . . we are honored at your return.”

“As pleased and honored as I am, dearest Dulyk.” She smiled, sweetly, then inclined her head to me. “Thank you for the dance, Rhennthyl. I did enjoy it.”

“My pleasure, Iryela.” I took a step back, inclined my head to her, and eased away, but slowly enough to try to overhear what might be said.

“. . . most politely done, dear sister, if rather direct . . .”

“. . . do believe in courtesy, Dulyk . . . and always will . . .”

“You are so refreshing, sister dearest . . .”

I concealed a wince as I moved back toward my station. Iryela lived in a family that made even Caliostrus’s ménage seem warm and welcoming.

In less than half a glass, the orchestra would stop, and Councilor Suyrien would offer a toast to all the guests of the Council, but before that, I needed to return to my post.

“Do you know who asked you to dance?” asked a figure in formal black—Master Dichartyn. He’d caught me by surprise, because I’d still expected him to be in gray or gray and white.

“Mistress Iryela D’Ryel-Alte, and she used me as some sort of insult to her younger brother, who is her escort tonight—and possibly even to her father.”

Master Dichartyn nodded. “There is always infighting for survival in High Holder families.”

“You’re suggesting I might use that?”

“I would suggest nothing at the moment. Any conflict between you and High Holder Ryel has not yet begun, and the longer before he announces his intent, the better for you.”

“In what fashion will he announce it?”

“Let us just say that you will know without any doubt.”

Another of his infuriatingly vague statements! I hoped he would say more, but when he did not, I knew I would get nothing further, and I asked, “Do you have any instructions?”

“No. You can move around more. Just observe what you can.” He slipped away before I could reply.

Ahead, I saw a girl—tall enough to be a woman, but too young—watching the dancers. She was alone. Well . . . that was one of my duties, and perhaps if we stayed to the outside of the swirl of dancers I might see or learn something.

“Mistress, might I have the honor of a dance?”

Her eyes widened just slightly as she turned to me, but she recovered quickly. “You might.” Her smile was practiced, but with a stiffness that was slightly awkward and charming.

I took her into my arms and out into the dancers. Young she might have been, but she was a far better dancer than I.

“You dance exceedingly well, mistress.”

“Alynkya, Alynkya D’Ramsael.”

I liked the fact that she didn’t add the “Alte” to her name. “Your father is the councilor from Kephria, then.”

“He is. My mother was indisposed, and she asked him to bring me.”

She was even younger than she looked, perhaps because she was so tall, but I should have guessed because the councilor was the tallest member of the Council, by a good half head, if not more.

“How do you like the Ball?”

“I don’t know many people here.”

“Do you live here in L’Excelsis or in Kephria?”

“Kephria, most of the time.”

I danced with Alynkya for two dances, and then her father arrived and danced with her. He only smiled at me, patronizingly. I’d have to remember that, not as a grudge, but as a fact. I’d also have to remember Alynkya and wish she retained some of that youthful charm and directness. Probably not, given her father, but one could hope.

Near one of the sideboards, I caught sight of Madame D’Shendael. She was talking to someone—the Ferran envoy.

I eased closer as the two talked, then took a position where I could ostensibly watch the dance floor, but from where I could overhear most of their conversation, or glance in their direction.

“You have often suggested that Solidar has little music, Klauzvol. What you do think now?”

“This is a nice little orchestra, madame, but it is a pity that there are not others like it. For the capital of a great nation . . .”

“One cannot have everything, as you have said before. Our artists are superb . . .”

“Ah . . . that is indeed true, but so are those of Ferrum, particularly in Ferrial . . .”

I wanted the opportunity to speak to Madame D’Shendael, as well as to get a closer look at the envoy, but I certainly couldn’t speak directly to her, or stare. So I looked at her for a moment, then looked away. Several moments later I did the same, while trying to project a clueless curiosity.