Jeweled Fire

by Sharon Shinn

  “What kind of skills?” Liramelli asked.

  “He can control fire.”

  “Really? Oh, that is most impressive,” Melissande said. She held out her hands, clad in lace gloves so sheer they were scarcely more than blue threads tied around her palms. “Show me. Put a flame at my fingertips.”

  Nelson grinned. “I can’t call fire from nowhere,” he said. “I can just make it behave.”

  “Even in Malinqua?” Steff asked. “For some reason I always thought the powers of the primes didn’t extend beyond the Welchin border.”

  Nelson’s grin widened. “Well, I haven’t had much chance to experiment since I set foot in Palminera,” he drawled, making Corene instantly suspect that he had. “But I think I could do a trick or two if I needed to.”

  “That might make the party even more exciting,” Melissande said.

  Nelson took her arm and set off down the hall. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  A buffet dinner was laid out in an oppressively ornate dining hall that Corene had not been in the whole time she’d been in Malinqua. Maybe two hundred people were inside, milling aimlessly around. These were the very elite of Malinquese society, Corene knew—the titled nobles, the wealthy landowners, the political darlings—reveling in the privilege of being invited to this most exclusive of events. Simultaneous celebrations were going on all over the city this night, but the very finest food, music, and entertainment would be found here at the palace, and this was the place where everyone wanted to be.

  Unfortunately, Corene had only met a handful of them during her stay, and the disguises prevented her from recognizing any of them now. Five minutes after she entered the room, she took an unwary step away from her own party and instantly lost track of Nelson and the others. She stood there a moment, wondering what she should do. A tap on her shoulder made her turn around hopefully to find Jiramondi right behind her. His own mask was barely a strip of silk across his eyes, and he was dressed in his usual style, so it wasn’t hard to recognize him.

  “You don’t have to tell me if I’m right, but you look like the Welchin princess,” he greeted her. “And you look a little lost.”

  “Coming to a dinner in disguise sounded much more fun before I thought about walking into a room full of strangers,” she said. “How did you know it was me?”

  He grinned. “I recognized Foley behind you.”

  That made her laugh. “So what’s the procedure here? I see food and I see tables, but it doesn’t look like there are formal seating arrangements.”

  “No, since we’re all in disguise, it would ruin the fun to know who your tablemates are,” Jiramondi explained. “You’re supposed to fill your plate at the buffet then sit down next to some random stranger and start flirting madly.”

  “You don’t sound particularly pleased by the notion.”

  “I hate events like this,” he said. “Bad enough when I can see people’s faces and gauge how they react to me. But here! Everyone a potential foe and no way of knowing! It’s awful.”

  She glanced around the room. “I don’t see Garameno.”

  “No, he hates masked dinners even more than I do. Because, of course, he can’t blend in. He’ll come down later for the outdoor festivities, though.”

  “When do those start?”

  “Soon,” he said, taking her arm. He guided her toward a sideboard piled with dozens of appetizing dishes. “So let’s eat something now and recruit our strength.”

  They’d finished their first plates of food and were considering returning to the buffet for more when there was a huge boom from outside the palace. Even before its reverberations faded, people were laughing and jumping to their feet, streaming toward the doors.

  “Now we move to the courtyard,” Jiramondi said. “Though there will be food available inside all night, and music in two of the salons, for people who want to come in and rest.”

  “Excellent,” she said. “Let’s go explore the marvels outside.”

  Indeed, the courtyard outside the palace had been transformed into a wonderland, far more magical than it had appeared yesterday when all the underlying supports were visible. Strolling through the displays, her hand tucked inside Jiramondi’s elbow, Corene couldn’t stop exclaiming at the lovely sights. Strings of white lights were wrapped around shrubs, trees, ornamental stands, the false walls of the replica labyrinth—everything—throwing the whole area under a spell of enchantment. In one bend of the maze, performers juggled lit torches and waltzed with mannequins made of fire. In another, acrobats dangled from invisible wires, appearing to somersault and pirouette above the crowd with only air to support them. The boats sailing on the counterfeit sea were bedecked with colorful lanterns that made it seem as if the water was dancing with fairy lights.

  “This is exquisite!” Corene said.

  “Much more appealing than I thought it would be when it was first described to me,” Jiramondi agreed.

  She looked over her shoulder to make sure Foley was getting a chance to enjoy all the delights. “Isn’t this amazing?”

  “Most impressive,” he replied.

  She turned her attention back to the vista before her and declared, “I want to see everything.”

  They continued on their perambulations, seeing new wonders at every bend in the path: the woman twisting her body into impossible shapes, the man making scarves and birds and even a child disappear and reappear at will, the couple using some kind of glittering fire to paint streaks of color in the air. As they moved from station to station, they were serenaded by different musicians, each one far enough from the others that their offerings did not overlap. Here were three young girls singing in high sweet harmony; here, five men producing amazing sounds from strings and bows. Corene was mesmerized by the circle of drummers, their hands flying with unbelievable speed over the taut skin of their instruments, their insistent rhythms vying with her heart for the pace that would drive her pulse.

  Everywhere they went, someone recognized Jiramondi and stopped to pull him aside. Usually Corene would go on a few paces without him, then stand transfixed at the next sight until he caught up. Foley always followed a few steps behind, never close enough for her to draw him into conversation. While Corene watched the drummers, Jiramondi got caught up in a much longer discussion, but she didn’t mind. She thought she might just stand here and listen for the rest of the night.

  “It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” said a voice over her shoulder, and she turned with an automatic smile. The man standing behind her was tall and broad-shouldered, but that was about all she could tell, since any distinguishing features were hidden behind a black mask, black hood, and close-fitting black clothing. He even wore gloves to disguise his hands. She knew him, though; she couldn’t place his voice, but she was certain she’d heard it before.

  “I’ve never heard anything like them. Are they from Malinqua?”

  “Originally from Berringey, I believe, though living in Palminera now. I heard that the empress found them in the Little Islands.”

  “Where all the most interesting items are found.”

  He smiled, the whiteness of his teeth breaking the perfect darkness of the mask. “Said by someone not native to this country.”

  She laughed. “What gave me away? The fact that after all these ninedays, I still can’t speak the language very well?”

  “That was only one factor,” he said, declining to elaborate. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Much more than I expected to. Are you?”

  “Much more than I expected to,” he echoed. “The empress entertains so rarely—and cares so little about ostentation—that I always expect her celebrations to be stingy and small. But this is so openhanded and expansive that I almost find myself wondering where I am.”

  His patterns of speech were teasingly familiar and, for a minute, she thought she could identify
him. Greggorio, she almost said aloud. But that wasn’t right. This man had a similar build, but he didn’t move with Greggorio’s innate grace. And he offered observations that would never have occurred to Greggorio at all.

  “I suppose that’s the point of a masked event—to make you wonder where you are and who you are and who everyone else is,” she responded. “To make you question the things you thought you knew.”

  “An exercise we should all be engaged in all the time anyway,” he said. “Complacency has killed more men than combat.”

  It sounded like something Nelson would say. But she was certain this wasn’t the sweela prime.

  “I try not to take things for granted,” she said, scanning his covered face, trying to read some recognizable pattern under the opaque fabric.

  “It is the human tendency,” he said. “The only ones who are able to overcome it are those who live very precarious lives.”

  “As you do?” she asked.

  The smile again, briefer this time. “In the extreme.”

  She couldn’t think of an answer to that, but she didn’t have to, because Jiramondi joined them then, shaking his head. “No, I don’t know how much the empress spent on this extravagant event and if it signals her intention to name Steffanolo as her heir,” he said, clearly still irritated by his most recent conversation. “And if I did know either of those things, I wouldn’t share the information with you. Oh. Hello there. Didn’t see you at first.”

  This last was directed at the man in the black mask, who nodded at Jiramondi and bowed to Corene. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he said, and glided away into darkness.

  “Who was that?” Jiramondi asked.

  “I couldn’t tell. I thought you might know.”

  Jiramondi shook his head, then shrugged. “Mysterious strangers taking bold liberties,” he said. “Another thing to love about a masked gala.”

  That made her giggle. She held out her hand and he hooked his elbow around it. “So let’s keep walking and see what else we find.”

  They found the fountain that flowed with fiery liqueur—flames dancing on top of the cups of liquid that were being handed out by very careful servants. They found a tiny cottage built entirely of flowers, though they declined to drop on their knees and crawl through it, as many of the younger guests were doing. They found a man sculpting images from ice and a woman playing a flute and a troupe of actors performing scenes from well-known comedic productions.

  They also found another half dozen people who wanted to draw Jiramondi aside and share an observation or air a grievance. Corene guessed he was wishing he’d taken more trouble to disguise himself. Maybe I’ll suggest that he go back to his quarters and find a hat or a hood that shadows his face, she thought. But when she looked around to check on him, she couldn’t find him anywhere. The motion of the crowd had pulled her too far away from him, or his latest petitioner had dragged him to some shadowy spot to have an even more private conversation.

  She stifled a sigh and lifted her chin and kept walking, though the lights and the performers and the sights didn’t seem quite as magical when she was viewing them by herself. Foley insisted on remaining a few paces behind her, guarding rather than accompanying her, which made her feel even more solitary. She kept scanning the masked faces of the people who passed by, sure she would find Melissande or Liramelli or Nelson somewhere in the crowds, but so far they remained elusive. She wondered if they were all together somewhere, enjoying themselves so much that they didn’t even realize she was missing.

  Disconsolately, she paused by a knot of people who were watching a man juggle knives and oranges, deftly changing his grip each time the opposite item fell into his hand. “Any bets that he’ll cut himself?” asked a man standing beside her. He wore a blue cape and a matching mask; his voice was unfamiliar. No one she knew, she was pretty sure.

  “No,” she responded. “He wouldn’t be here if he was that clumsy.”

  “Too bad. Seems like the kind of crowd that would enjoy blood.”

  An odd thing to say. She edged away slightly. “Oh, I wouldn’t think so,” she said. “It’s a pretty civilized group.”

  He closed the gap. “On the surface, maybe,” he said. “But you don’t have to scratch too deep to find the savage underneath.”

  All her instincts were warning her of danger, and again she stepped away. “I don’t intend to scratch anyone,” she said.

  Again he followed. “And if someone scratches you?” he murmured, lifting a hand as if he would stroke her cheek.

  She drew breath to scream but before she could utter a sound, Foley was there, knocking the man to the ground. It happened so quickly she couldn’t track the motion. One moment, menace; the next, chaos. All around her were gasps and shouts and coiling bodies as people drew back and the man in the blue cape jumped to his feet.

  “If you—” he began with a snarl, and Foley knocked him down again. He moved so quickly, so fluidly, it was as if he only waved or gestured, but the man was sprawling before them, coughing with pain. This time he stayed down, shaking his head and moving his hand along his ribs as if to feel for broken bones.

  The bystanders were muttering now, trying to decide if they should intervene, trying to determine who was at fault. Any more uproar and royal guards would appear, Corene thought.

  But she didn’t want to prolong this scene. She grabbed Foley’s wrist and tugged him away. “Come on.” The man on the ground didn’t cry out anything melodramatic like Stop them! and none of the nearby watchers felt impelled to pursue them, so within a few steps they were out of sight, lost in another bend of the maze.

  “Thank you,” Corene said. She was tired of him stalking along behind her, so she held on to his wrist; she was pleased when he made no move to pull his arm away. “There was something unnerving about him.”

  “I could tell he made you uneasy. And when it looked like he was going to touch you . . .”

  She shivered. “I’m glad you were watching me.”

  “I’m always watching you.”

  I’m glad of that, too. Instead she said, “We’ve looked at all the wonders, but we haven’t tasted any of them. Let’s go try something! You choose. What looked good to you?”

  He glanced down at her, his eyes crinkling in a smile behind the mask. “The brew that was on fire,” he said promptly.

  She felt laughter bubble up. “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” she said.

  “Do you? And what’s that?”

  “You’re thinking, ‘I’m a guard and she’s royalty. What I want should have no influence on what we do. But she’s stubborn enough to insist, so I may as well avoid the argument and speak up.’ Is that right?”

  Now he was openly laughing. “Close enough. Though I also spared a second to think, ‘I’d just pick the safest option, but she wouldn’t believe it, so we’d have the argument anyway. So I may as well tell the truth.’”

  She slid her hand up to the bend of his elbow and turned toward the fountain, but now he wouldn’t budge. “What?” she said.

  He disengaged his arm. “You can’t promenade through the festival with me like I’m some kind of lord.”

  “Why not? Nobody knows who you are. Nobody knows who I am, when it comes to that.”

  “Because I’m a guard and you’re royalty,” he said, giving her own words back to her.

  She played a trump to see what it would get her. “But there are so many people,” she said. “I’m afraid.”

  “No you’re not.”

  This time she didn’t take his wrist or elbow; this time she reached for his hand, and twined her fingers through his. He made as if to pull away, and she tightened her grip. Obviously he could get away if he wanted, but he hesitated.

  “You don’t want to break my fingers,” she pointed out.

  “I need both hands free,” he said, his v
oice uninflected, “in case someone attacks you.”

  “If someone attacks me,” she promised, “I’ll let go.”

  “Corene—”

  That was it. Just her name. But it stopped her. He never called her by name—never formally addressed her, really—and she was trying to recall the last time he had needed to get her attention. Did he say “Majesty”? “Princess”? Did he just wave a hand? She couldn’t remember.

  “Why did you come with me to Malinqua?” she asked softly. They were standing midway between two displays of light, so they could see each other, but not clearly. And anyway, there were the masks. But she would bet he could read all the emotions on her face. She wasn’t making any attempt to conceal them.

  “I told you that the last time you asked.”

  “Because you thought I needed a protector.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you want to be that protector?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You never asked me,” she said, her voice even lower, “why I wanted you to come with me on this trip.”

  With one quick twist, he broke free of her hold. But he didn’t move away. “Because you thought I was skilled enough to do my job.” When she started to speak, he interrupted. “That has to be the only reason. I can’t do the job if you say other reasons exist.”

  She listened to that closely. He was trying to hold his voice steady, but there was a raw undertone that she found very interesting. “You mean, you’d resign your post?” she said. “You’d leave me alone in Malinqua?”

  “You won’t be staying in Malinqua,” he said stiffly. “I would ensure you made it safely home.”