“Don’t get too drunk,” Bjorn said with a chuckle and a smile. Then, to Clutch, he said, “If you bring someone… or several someones, back, don’t use the ship, alright? Rachim offered us rooms. Use those.”
“You are no fun,” Clutch snorted as the group headed down the ramp.
The Dome Beneath the Stars was located further back down the top level of Iseult’s hull, not far from Amut’s former residence. The fete was to take place as the sun set, and the sky had not disappointed. The railcar they took was on one of two tracks that ran the length of the district, and from out of the main, marble-lined window, they could see a beautiful eruption of gold, purple and the first hints of moonlit silver explode across the heavens, refracting off the surfaces of the other behemoths like gemstones. She walked beside her teacher, with Vlana and Clutch coming behind, and they were ushered from the railcar across sunset-painted cobbles towards the dome’s exterior doors, which were open inward, guarded by a pair of Pentus’s armsmen, a single functionary standing watch beside them. Names were given, and they were ushered through into a space that nearly stole her breath.
From outside, the dome had seemed nondescript, a multifaceted half-sphere with a silvery glint to it that caught whatever color the sky threw at it. Inside, Aimee found herself at the top of a staircase wide enough for five people to walk down shoulder to shoulder without overcrowding half of it, above a vast ballroom with a tiled floor polished to near-mirror sheen. Her senses came alive with the tease of potent magic in use, and raising her eyes, she looked upon circular walls lined with gleaming, diamond-like lamps, and a chandelier that was a hovering conjuration of multicolored starlight, a living constellation in constant motion. Up overhead, the sunset was a glorious splash of color slowly giving way to innumerable stars glimmering in the eternal sky, kept from being blotted out by the ambient light of yet another layer of enchantment.
“Now that,” she said quietly, “is impressive.”
“Wow,” Vlana murmured. “I… Wow.”
“My friends,” Clutch said, fetching a glass of wine from a passing tray. “It has truly been an honor, but my solemn duty to engage in depravity is calling. Don’t get into trouble in a way that keeps me from my usual portside activities, understand?”
Harkon’s face creased with amusement. “Please refrain from destroying any relationships tonight, Clutch. I don’t need angry husbands coming to my ship.”
“They won’t,” the pilot said with a laugh. “Bjorn’s making me use Rachim’s house, remember?”
“What’s the goal tonight?” Aimee asked her teacher as they descended the stairs.
“Well,” Harkon said, still looking amused. “First, do no further harm to the political situation if we can avoid it. If this can cool heads sufficiently to let virtue prevail, we let it. Second, watch for prominent players we may have missed before. Voices whispering in ears, notable social presences.”
“And third?” she asked, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. A sea of fantastically dressed officer aristocrats spread out before them, and at the far end, she glimpsed a live band composed of strings, several gracefully curving horns, a flute, and two shredders with glimmering strings made of light. That was rather different from what she thought this crowd might have appreciated.
“Third,” Harkon said, turning and laying a hand on her shoulder. “Enjoy yourself. Since leaving home we’ve faced violence, terror, murder, and intrigue. There is no shame in relaxing. Go. Have a fine night.”
Being set loose was only unsettling for a few minutes before Aimee re-found her balance. She selected a white wine from one of the trays and started making her way around the room. Two conversations with young men and women of the upper levels later, and she had a better feel for the rules of the social game into which she had been thrust.
Courtship in the upper levels of Iseult was as intricate a game as anywhere else, and the ship – even its officer class – was so diverse, so much a melting pot, that the upper crust was both wildly conservative about their own, private traditions, and shockingly liberal in what they considered acceptable.
As she walked away from a brief jaunt around the dance floor with a red-uniformed midshipman with gold rings on his fingers and a swaggering smile, she wondered about what the people she’d gone to school with would have thought of this. Two sorts of soirees had been in Aimee’s social appointment book back at home. The first kind were formal high society functions that she came to by way of family. Those had rules upon rules of formal etiquette. The second kind were the private parties wealthy kids in her social spheres had thrown – those had rules as well, but they were far more cavalier and risqué. It was at the latter sort that she’d met several of her serious boyfriends. It was there that she’d made a number of bad mistakes, both with her own heart, and the hearts of others.
Having talked to several young men and young women, and having learned principally about regional irritations with a plague on Tristan that was currently stifling travel and trade, she started looking for people she knew, and that was when she saw Belit.
The commander of the Red Guard wasn’t wearing armor. Aimee wasn’t sure why that surprised her. The warrior wore a gold gown tailored for her, and fitting her dark skin and gold eyes to perfection, yet still she seemed dissonant standing there, and it took Aimee a moment to realize that this was because she stood alone. Wherever she stepped, the crowd naturally parted about her, taking note. The commander’s social presence had a physical element that made most step back, for fear of being in a space that was inviolate.
She caught sight of Aimee and smiled approvingly with a nod of her head. Grinning, Aimee strode up to her. “You look amazing, commander,” she said.
“It is not my usual, I confess,” Belit said warmly, “but once in a while, when occasion provides the opportunity, I am glad to take advantage. Are you here with your crew?”
“Some of them,” Aimee answered. “The sociable ones, in any case. You?”
The swordswoman scanned the crowd, and spoke more quietly. “I’m here on Pentus’s invitation, giving several of my people a night off to enjoy themselves. I think it’s working. As for myself…” She shook her head with a light, self-deprecating laugh. “I am content to observe. To just see and be seen. My life is complicated enough without worrying about attachments.”
Aimee nodded slowly, but couldn’t help follow the woman’s gaze across the floor to where Viltas’s son stood talking with one of Pentus’s subordinates. Vallus was dressed in gray and green, his boyishly handsome face relatively unornamented, and his kind eyes alight with the conversation he was having.
“Would it be rude,” Aimee finally said, “if I asked you what the story with young Lord Vallus is? I don’t mean to pry, but the two of you seem very fond of each other.”
Belit’s smile was wry. “Ah, unfair,” she said. “When we were younger, he liked to escape the higher levels and explore the rest of Iseult, and I was always getting into trouble. We became friends from different worlds, and briefly… more. But then I was taken on by the Red Guard, and relationships for those who guard the captain are… dangerous. I ended it, and I do not think he has forgiven me. Vallus is a dreamer. He sees the best in people, even unto denial of their worst qualities, and he believes there is no obstacle sufficient devotion cannot overcome. He is a rare man, to have survived as long as he has in politics while remaining that way.”
Aimee smiled softly. Her own amorous history was a patchwork of errors, passions, and silly mistakes, but for all that, as she regarded the woman before her, she knew she was recognizing the real thing. “You don’t hide your feelings well,” she said quietly.
Belit gave a single, amused laugh. “There is no need. Reality is what it is. We are who we are. I’m sure you know something of that.”
That caught her just a little off guard. “Hmm?” she said. “Oh, no. Honestly, my own history is mostly knowing what I wanted and going and getting it. I didn’t leave anything unfi
nished behind me, though my last boyfriend might disagree.” His name was Tad, short for Tadreth. They’d dated in her final year at the academy, and for a brief time been the proverbial it couple of her graduating class. The breakup hadn’t been perfect, but from the start she’d been clear with him about her goals in life.
Apparently he’d harbored the thought that he could change her mind. He’d been wrong.
Belit’s brow furrowed as if momentarily surprised. “Not exactly what I meant, but… ah, here comes our mutual friend.”
“What?” Aimee turned. Elias Leblanc descended the stairs. She’d seen him dressed up before, of course, at the reception for Amut’s funeral, but this was different. He’d cleaned up. He wore a long coat of black and green, with minor accents of gold thread. Beneath was a black shirt and an ascot of burgundy silk at his neck. Black breeches, and knee-high boots polished to mirror shine. He’d trimmed his beard down and his short hair was wavy and well managed.
Oh. Aimee’s brows drew together in consternation. Her mouth hung briefly open before she remembered to close it. That was different.
He paused at the middle of the stairwell, his left hand resting on the pommel of the sword he still wore, and his green eyes swept the room with a disarming self-consciousness. Aimee shifted from foot to foot, at once acutely aware of her own physical senses. She pursed her lips.
“He cleans up well,” Belit said, a slightly smug amusement in her voice. Aimee shot the other woman an arched eyebrow, catching the faintest of insinuations. She was about to raise an objection to the unsaid implication, but found herself pausing and thinking instead. “Well,” she said. “He’s always been handsome, so it’s not really–”
She turned back to her previous line of sight. Elias had spotted her across the crowd. His green eyes met hers, and turning towards her, he smiled.
“–Surprising–” she coughed awkwardly “–is it?”
She’d never seen that smile before. Broad. Honest. Wide and intelligent and boyish. She felt her forehead tense in consternation. Her face flushed, and her heart pounded in her ears.
He gave a nod of his head and started towards them. Aimee’s composure all at once found itself fighting a losing tactical action against a rising swell of stomach butterflies. She didn’t have time to process all of her reactions, or the sudden and abrupt response, every bit as intense as it had been in her cabin doorway a few days ago… but one thought passed through her mind as she tried to settle herself: that smile was going to be a problem.
As he wove through the crowd towards them, her head suddenly started ringing with quotes from dozens of old romantic etiquette books her old charm school teachers had made her read. Outdated and boorish, but somehow – inexplicably – now running roughshod through her head. “A proper Lady,” went one of the obnoxious snippets, “always lets the gentleman speak first.”
And for some unfathomable reason, doing the exact opposite of the script suddenly seemed very important.
Instead she walked towards him, and let herself smile. It came much more readily than she’d expected. Bold. She had to be the opposite of what the books suggested. Why? Never mind that. “Elias Leblanc,” she chided. “It is entirely unfair of you to hide that level of composed spitshine from me up until now.”
He was caught off-guard by that. A small part of her reveled in the triumph.
“Thank Rachim,” he said, with a small smile after glancing down in response to her gesture. “He insisted I go to a tailor, else I might shame him with my sackcloth and rags.” Before she could counter, he looked up at her again and said, “You look lovely.”
Dammit. She laughed to toss off the sudden swell of nerves and hopefully suppress the flush she felt in her cheeks. The confusing implications of that reaction were too much to unpack. Instead, she offered him her arm and stepped up beside him. “Well,” she said, with a clearing of her throat to brush off the butterflies, “if you’re going to be like that, then I must insist you accompany me. Someone has to protect your innocence.”
Elias responded seamlessly, almost reflexively. Her hand came to rest on his upper arm. That was a mistake. “Such a gentleman,” she covered with a bright smile. “Yes, I can’t let you out of my sights. The women here will devour you alive.”
He flashed a sideways smile at her, full of a mirth and warmth that seemed to drive aside the pain and uncertainty she was used to seeing, even if just a little. “Miss Laurent,” he said, mockingly formal, “I appreciate your concern, but I’m far from helpless.”
She raised her eyebrows, cocking her head to the side. Not so shrinking and unassuming then, eh? This was fun. “Oh no, Miss Laurent is what my teachers called me, and my mother when she was angry. Aimee. Always. Yes?”
“Aimee,” he agreed. She bit her lip. Letting him say that had been a mistake.
Three more steps, and they were with Belit again.
“Teacher,” Elias said with a polite nod of his head and a smile.
“Junk ritter,” Belit said approvingly. “You’ve been appropriated.”
“Excuse me,” Aimee said, “I am saving him from the perils of the room.”
“Clearly,” Belit said, a smile still playing across her face. “I commend your wealth of virtue,” she teased. “And self-knowledge.”
“I don’t mind,” Elias answered smoothly. “I wouldn’t say I’m helpless, but it’s an awfully big room, and a great many people, and there are a great many things I am having to relearn.” Again, the warm, amused smile. “Besides, she’s been in my corner longer than anyone else in my life.”
Something about the way he said the words made her pause. The complete candor. Aimee wasn’t certain for a moment whether to feel honored or as if her heart would break. “I could not be otherwise,” she said, and wondered at the vehemence of her sincerity.
He looked at her again, level gaze intent. She averted her eyes and instead reached up to correct an imperfection in how his ascot was arranged. “Hold still,” she murmured. “And don’t fuss.”
She didn’t have to look up at him again – thank the gods – because the lights abruptly dimmed, save for those at the top of the staircase, as Pentus appeared in the company of a cadre of white-clad bodyguards, his hands spread wide like a conductor, quelling the mass murmuring of the crowd before beginning a grand orchestral movement. The duke of the midlevels was resplendent in red, his white hair knotted behind his painted face, and elaborate silver threadwork spiraling across his velvet coat and black gloves. At length, the crowd quieted, and the three of them watched as their host addressed his captive audience.
“In my birth land,” he began, “we have a saying: let no unkindness pass between those who break bread and dance together. Iseult is my adopted home, and I have found its hospitality no less fervent than my birthplace. Aristocrat, enlisted, lifelong native or recent immigrant, we are, all of us alike, souls bound to the infinite heavens by our blessed Maiden as she sails the skies. The guild holds our mandate, yes, and the houses of trade blow the winds upon which we fly, but Iseult is our home, and in the wake of our dear captain’s loss we find ourselves divided. It has been said, I know, that I intend this night as advertisement for my candidacy to take our departed Amut’s place. Let me correct this presumption on two fronts: first, that our captain can be replaced. And second, that I would buy your love with feasts. No such ploy. This night, my brothers and sisters, is yours. Revel, dance, drink, and find solace in one another once again, beneath our landless stars.”
A chorus of cheers broke out from among the assembled crowd. Aimee allowed herself a small clap. The speech hadn’t been that bad, honestly, though some of the motives were paper thin. This is not a bribe, here, enjoy it.
Right.
“If I may have a moment?” Elias said, then added, “Wait here,” before stepping away. The orchestra struck up a tune once more, and the crowd began to move towards the edges of the room to give their fellows space to dance freely.
“How exactly c
an I protect you if you walk away?” Aimee teased him.
“A moment only!” Elias promised, bowing and smiling with a hint of mischief before he slipped into the masses.
“He’s temperamental,” Belit mused.
“Two people at any given time,” she said. Then, looking at the other woman, said “You know, yes?”
A solemn nod followed, then Belit said, “Yes, but you’ve got it wrong. There’s only one man in there, and the memory of wrongs done.”
“Belit,” a voice said, and turning, Aimee saw Vallus standing before them. A small smile was on his face as he offered his hand.
The commander of the Red Guard looked completely caught off guard. “Val,” she said.
“Please,” Viltas’s son said earnestly. “Don’t mistake this for duplicity on my part. I don’t want to talk you out of anything. But if I didn’t ask you to dance tonight, I would never forgive myself.”
Momentarily at a loss for words, Belit watched the eyes of the young diplomat, then, at length, the veneer of cool composure cracked for just a moment, revealing the smallest of girlish grins. “Very well, young man,” she said with a faint, teasing formality, “I will humor you. I expect your best, however. It’s been years since we taught each other. Show me no rust.”
Vallus grinned as if he’d found the key to the legendary treasures of the Varengard Library. “You have my word, Bel. I shall not disappoint.”
Hand in hand, the two stepped into the whirling mass of dancers, and Belit shot a look behind where the sorceress stood. “This is your fault, junk ritter,” she said. “I will not forget.”
Aimee looked back, and there Elias stood, his hands clasped behind his back, and a supremely satisfied smile on his face. “I hope not, teacher.”
Dancers swirled past them like tufts of multicolored cloud beneath the dimmed lights. Elias stood beside her, watching as the couple spun away into the crowd. “Sneaky,” Aimee remarked.
“Impulsive,” Elias agreed. “Perhaps nothing will come of it, but it was right there. Just a little push, and something rather nice happens.”
Dragon Road Page 19