Imager's Intrigue: The Third Book of the Imager Portfolio (55 page)

“You think so?” I laughed softly. “How could you tell?”

“Because she didn’t look at you, and you nodded and were very thoughtful-looking as she spoke. So was Dartazn, and she looked at him.”

“She was right in what she said.”

“You already knew that.”

I did indeed, but that wasn’t the question. The real question was whether I’d remember it and live by it.

As I had suspected, invitations to the Council’s Winter Ball did arrive…or rather a note from Ramsael did, stating that as the second highest ranking imager I was considered a member of the Council for purposes of Council Balls. Interestingly enough, although the Maitre of the Collegium was also considered as such an “honorary” member, in accord with tradition, the Maitre never attended unless the Chief Councilor was unable to do so.

With the note were five invitations for me to use or not, as I chose. Since Suyrien’s death meant neither Frydryk nor Kandryl would necessarily receive invitations, I offered invitations to both, but Frydryk had already been invited as a courtesy by Fhernon. Iryela and Kandryl accepted, as did Dartazn. My parents declined, but since there wasn’t time to get an invitation to Khethila, I did write and tell her that I expected her to be in L’Excelsis for the Spring Ball so that she could meet Madame D’Shendael. I also offered an invitation to Commander Artois, and he and his wife also accepted. Had my parents accepted, I would have invited the Veblynts as well. Instead, I invited no one else.

Vendrei evening was freezing, and felt colder because of a bitter wind, but without snow, and after feeding our daughter and giving her a story, if earlier than usual, we dressed and then made our way to the duty coach station. I was in the formal blacks of a Maitre, with a formal black cloak. Seliora was in black and shimmering green, a gown she’d worn before but not to a Council Ball, also with her formal cloak.

Dartazn and the tall young lady were waiting for us. He wore the same imager formal blacks as did I. Under a dark blue cloak, she was in deep blue.

“Good evening,” I offered.

Dartazn bowed. “Might I present my fiance, Veroniqua D’Semaelyn. Veroniqua, Maitre Rhennthyl and Madame D’Rhennthyl.”

“Seliora, please,” interjected my wife.

“I couldn’t…”

“She means it,” I said with a smile, “and I never cross her when she means it.”

Dartazn barely managed to avoid smiling.

I opened the coach door and offered a hand to Seliora. Once we were on our way, I looked to Dartazn.

“I have told her,” he admitted. “Can you tell me how long before I’m expected to be in Westisle?”

I smiled. “How long do you need? You could easily stay here three weeks to a month. Longer than that might require that you travel to Westisle.”

He looked to Veroniqua.

She smiled shyly, then leaned toward him and whispered.

“She says a month would be lovely. We’d already planned tentatively for the twenty-seventh of Fevier.”

“Is your family from here?” asked Seliora.

“Yes…Seliora.” Veroniqua blushed. “I feel so strange using your first name. I always loved the name, but to know…”

“You’re acquainted with its meaning?” I asked.

Veroniqua nodded. “My father’s side is all Pharsi.” She looked to Seliora. “My aunt…she saw you once, with a pistol in your hand, and she said that you were truly the Daughter of the Moon.” Her eyes went to me, but she said nothing.

“Yes,” said Seliora, “he is.”

I knew what she meant. More than once we’d been compared to the ancient Pharsi legends—the Daughter of the Moon and Erion, the hunter and the lesser red moon. Whether the comparison was apt or even accurate was another question, but there were some things about which I wasn’t going to contradict Seliora. Besides, I’d seen her with the pistol, too.

Because it was so chill, when we arrived at the Council Chateau, there were close to fifteen coaches lined up before us. Once we disembarked, while we didn’t rush up the open stone steps, neither did we tarry. Dartazn and Veroniqua led the way, in deference to my seniority, in through the Grand Foyer and past the ceremonial guards and the winged angelica statues I recalled all too well, before ascending the Grand Staircase and then leaving our cloaks with the functionary off to the side of the top of the steps. At the doorway to the Great Receiving Hall, Dartazn and Veroniqua stepped up to the same balding man who announced all arrivals at every Ball.

His deep bass voice boomed out, “Dartazn D’Imagisle, Maitre D’Structure, and Veroniqua D’Semaelyn.”

The murmurs died away, and most of those in the crowd turned toward the entrance of the Great Receiving Hall.

As we waited to be announced, Seliora leaned toward me and whispered, “You wanted him to stand out like that, didn’t you?”

“I’d hoped for it. They all need to focus on a hero, the one who ended the war.”

“You’re the one who ended the war.”

I shook my head. “I made it possible. He did it. He deserves the credit.”

When we stepped up, the announcement was simpler: “Maitre Rhennthyl and Madame Rhennthyl.”

“I still don’t feel like I should be announced as Madame,” murmured Seliora as we stepped away and toward the three Councilors on the Executive Council.

“You said that at the last Ball.”

“It’s still true,” she whispered back.

“That’s because you’re young and beautiful.”

“
You
said that before.”

“It’s still true,” I murmured in the same tone as she’d used.

“Rhennthyl,” she said in a low voice, “you’re more impossible than ever.”

Beyond the Councilors stood Baratyn, just out from the east wall of the Hall, while Martyl stood along the west wall.

Behind us came the announcement of “Councilor Reyner D’Factorius and Madame D’Reyner.”

The first of the Executive Councilors was Sebatyon, who inclined his head politely and stiffly. His voice was cool. “Good evening, Master Rhennthyl, Madame.”

I smiled broadly. “A very good evening.”

Another stiff nod was his only response.

Next was the hawk-nosed, black-haired Caartyl. “Greetings, Master Rhennthyl. Greetings, Madame Seliora. You’re more beautiful than ever.”

“As always, you’re most kind,” replied Seliora

Ramsael bowed slightly even before we could speak. “You honor us, Maitre, Madame.”

“The Council honors us,” I replied.

“Few will admit it,” he said, his voice lower, “but resolving the differences between the Councilors will be far easier now.” He straightened slightly and said in a normal voice, “Do enjoy the Ball.”

“We intend to.”

As we moved out into the hall, and toward the music and those dancing, I thought Ramsael’s words and smile held a certain relief.

The announcements continued to boom out across the hall.

“Councilor Alucion D’Artisan and Madame D’Alucion!”

“Fhernon D’Alte and Madame D’Fhernon…”

Since I didn’t see anyone that I knew, and since Dartazn and Veroniqua had stopped to talk to Martyl, I led Seliora right onto the dance floor. As we danced, others continued to arrive.

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

“The Honorable Dharios Harnen, Envoy of the Abierto Isles, and Madame Harnen.”

“Ryel D’Alte and Madame Ryel.”

“Suyrien D’Alte and Madame Suyrien.”

Seliora and I finished the dance and slipped to the side of the floor, knowing that, this time, Iryela and Kandryl would come to find us immediately.

They did. Iryela wore silver trimmed in black, but with a blue scarf that kept the silver from washing her out, and Kandryl again wore the Ryel colors of black and silver.

We half-turned and waited as Iryela and Kandryl approached.

“Thank you again for the invitation,” offered Iryela. “We couldn’t resist, especially after I heard what you said to that mule Sebatyon.”

“Where did you hear that?” I hoped it wasn’t that widespread.

“Juniae D’Shendael heard it from Caartyl. He said he was glad you didn’t hide behind useless traditions. He also said it was clear there would be change, and that it was about time.”

“I’d appreciate it if you kept that fairly close.”

“Oh…we only told Frydryk and Alynkya. She was amused. He was a bit concerned.”

I could see why. He would have to license some of the rights he’d paid dearly for, but I wasn’t about to make exceptions for friends, not when it affected everyone’s future.

“He’ll get over it,” said Kandryl.

“Oh,” added Iryela, “Frydryk won’t tell you this, but Alynkya was exceedingly grateful for the invitation to the Ball.”

Seliora nodded knowingly.

It took me a moment to understand why, and then I nodded. “I will be happy to do so again, and you can tell her that.”

“That will please her no end, and Frydryk as well.” Iryela’s eyes flicked to Kandryl.

“Might I have a dance?” Kandryl asked Seliora.

Seliora offered me a knowing smile. “I’d love to.”

As they swung out onto the dance floor, I offered a hand to Iryela. “Might I?”

She nodded. Once we were dancing, she said, “Thank you for setting up everything about Johanyr.”

“I’m sorry it had to end that way.”

“Given Johanyr, I’m not sure it could have ended any other way.”

“How is your mother taking it?”

That brought a bitter laugh. “How would I know? She keeps her own house at Ryealte. I sent her a letter, but she never replies to anything. We haven’t spoken in years. She won’t see me, and I won’t force it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve discovered that sometimes women are the worst of all in thinking that men should be in charge of everything. When it’s your own mother, it’s unbearable.”

I couldn’t help but think that Khethila and Seliora were both very fortunate in that regard.

“I’ve been seeing Juniae lately. Much as people deride her, I think she’s right.” Iryela looked up at me, not quite confrontationally.

“So do I. I’ve read several of her books, you know? My sister introduced me to her work.”

“It’s too bad more men don’t listen to their sisters and wives.”

“Kandryl does, you said.”

“You and he do. Sometimes, Frydryk does, but that’s only because Alynkya is quietly willful, and her father is Chief Councilor. Most men don’t.”

That was another statement I couldn’t really dispute, either, not for most men, although I had no doubts that Betara was always listened to.

As the music died away, I escorted Iryela back to Kandryl, and then reclaimed Seliora.

“What did she want?” asked my wife.

“To thank me for arranging to let them claim Johanyr’s body, and to complain about the fact that too few men listen to their wives and sisters. She’s begun to talk to Juniae D’Shendael.”

“Good.”

“Maitre Rhennthyl, Madame,” came a voice from our left.

I turned to face Commander Artois, accompanied by his wife, a muscular woman with iron-gray hair, almost as tall as her husband.

“Berthe and I wanted to pay our respects and offer thanks for the invitation.”

“The Commander of the Civic Patrol certainly belongs here,” I said cheerfully.

“As you are the first to know,” Artois said with a faint smile, “what should be and what is are seldom the same. We do appreciate your sense of propriety.”

“You are too kind,” I replied.

“That’s a word seldom applied to me,” said Artois.

Berthe turned to Seliora. “You are most beautiful, as always.”

“Thank you.”

“I understand that the Council may be making some changes,” ventured Artois. “Might any of them apply to the Civic Patrol?”

“Anything the Council does applies to everyone,” I said with a slight laugh. “It’s likely that all Civic Patrol Commanders will eventually be required to submit more standard reports to the Council. The Ferran sabotage revealed a certain lack of information.”

“If the Council limits it to that, we can all deal with it.” Artois nodded. “A pleasure to see you both looking so good. We will not keep you.”

After they stepped away, Seliora looked to me “There will be more of that.”

“So long as it’s that circumspect…” I laughed softly and took her hand.

We danced for a while longer, and then, just before ninth glass, joined the others gathered around the table where the Chief Councilor would make the traditional toast. I could hear murmurs around us.

“…think he’ll say something different?”

“…Suyrien never did…”

“…you talk to Maitre Dartazn?”

“…seems likable enough…impressive in a quiet way…”

I nodded at the last.

As the bells of the glass began to strike, Chief Councilor Ramsael eased away from where he was talking to Haestyr and Regial and their wives. He stepped toward the table, and the music stopped. Then came the drum roll and a quick trumpet call.

A uniformed server brought three bottles to the table, still corked and sealed, as was traditional. The Councilor said something, then gestured. The server removed the foil and cork from the bottle Ramsael had pointed out, then set a goblet down and poured the sparkling white wine into it.

Ramsael picked up the goblet, raised it, and declaimed, “First, with special thanks to Maitre Dartazn, without whose skills and courage this would be a far more somber occasion, and second, for Solidar, for the Council, and in thanks for a successful end to conflict!” Then he lowered the goblet and took a small swallow.

“For Solidar, for the Council, and in thanks for a successful end to conflict!” came a low echo from the bystanders. The response was far more enthusiastic than at past balls, perhaps because of the relief at the way the war—officially only a conflict—had ended.

Ramsael turned from the toasting table, and his eyes fixed on me. He nodded ever so slightly, then moved on, smiling at his young wife, and then at Alynkya, whose smile in reply appeared strained, at least to me. Frydryk seemed not to notice.

“He did that on purpose, that part about Dartazn,” observed Seliora. “Did you…?”

“No. I said nothing to him.” Maitre Dyana might have, but I hadn’t.

We turned to move away from the toasting table, but then I could see Junaie D’Shendael was headed in our direction, unaccompanied by her husband.

Madame D’Shendael’s smile was warm as she inclined her head to us. “Maitre Rhennthyl…Seliora.”

“I’m very pleased to see you once more, Juniae,” offered Seliora.

“And I both of you. How is your sister?”

“The last I heard, she was doing well. I’m hoping she’ll be able to attend the Spring Ball. By then she will have read your latest.”