Anastasia nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Lord Martynova bent close, to examine his daughter’s impassive face.
“Have you no other thoughts on this matter, my daughter?”
“You have said that you do not mean to bargain, my lord. Who am I to question the Master of the Black Sun? I remain your dependent and loyal daughter, under your care – for the next several hours, in any case.”
“I see. And after your debut?”
“I will do what is best for the Black Sun, father, as you have taught me.”
“I understand. You must leave?”
“Indeed I must. With the little time that remains, Mai and her maids still have much work to do, or so I am told.”
“Very well. Go in peace, daughter. I will see you at the ball.”
“Thank you, my lord. I anticipate it keenly.”
“…oh, daughter?”
“Yes, father?”
“You have received several suitors, to my understanding?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. You will instruct them to present themselves to me in the morning – no objections, daughter. I know full well what your mother said, but she is gone and I am here – so that I might make their acquaintance and determine their fitness. Am I well understood, my dutiful and obedient daughter?”
“Of course. I understand perfectly.”
“Then be on your way, Anastasia. Bring acclaim to the Black Sun with all that you do.”
***
Timor kept busy to keep his spirits up, simple as that, so the monotony and extended hours of guard duty was agony. Bodyguard was frankly not an ideal job for him. Not that anyone was sure what an ideal job for Timor might look like. He had spent the day trapped in an anteroom screening visitors who were largely limited to maids and tailors. He left only when Anastasia did, and aside from a brief ceremonial toast with her family, she had not done that since very early that morning.
The night, of course, would offer more interest, but the ball would likely be relatively dull. The event promised more watching, more waiting for something to happen, when assuredly nothing would. Anastasia’s happiness aside, Timor had trouble seeing the point in the frippery, and was not wildly fond of dancing.
He wanted to work, so that time would pass, so that something interesting…
Timor cocked his head to the side, as if listening to a distant noise, though the general level of muted clamor had not changed.
Timor was not impossible to surprise, rumors to the contrary aside.
He simply experienced surprise a few seconds before the surprising event itself took place, so Timor always had time to prepare his response. In this case, he got to his feet and smiled a moment before Pavel Martynova knocked on the door.
“Pascha! So good to see you!” Timor grabbed Pavel and wrapped him up in an embrace. “It’s been so long! I couldn’t say anything at the family thing, because the job, you see, and I thought I wouldn’t get a chance…”
Timor trailed off when he noticed Huian standing behind Pavel, with Molly and Diana, the young children of Josef Martynova’s second marriage, at either hand, and Kirsten, their own daughter, slung across her chest.
“Timor, great to see you, really.” Pavel produced a strained smile. “I’m sorry to barge in on you while you are getting ready for the ball and everything…”
“I’m good, actually,” Timor said self-consciously. “Renton covered for me so I could shower.”
“You look good, Timor,” Huian said, leading the children into the immediately crowded anteroom. “I’m sorry to bother you…”
“Not at all. It’s great to see you, Huian.”
He bent down to greet Molly and Diana. Molly was at an affectionate age, and hugged him freely, while Diana was shy, giggling from behind Huian’s leg. Timor grinned at her, reflecting privately on the family complexities that rendered Huian and Diana sisters-in-law.
“Listen, Timor…”
Noticing the urgency in his friend’s voice, Timor stopped making faces at the baby.
“Yes?”
“The Great Hall is insane, never seen it so crowded. And the bathrooms are just as bad. I don’t think we can make it back to our personal quarters, and we tried to use one of the Lesser Halls, but some sort of maintenance crew shooed us out…”
“The people responsible for that dumb swan, I bet. Haven’t been able to get rid of them all day,” Timor muttered. “Never mind. Go ahead and change Kirsten here. I don’t mind.”
“We were wondering…” Huian trailed off when she realized her question had already been answered. “Ah. Thank you, Timor.”
She hurried over to his card table, setting the baby down on top of his paperwork. Timor winced, but stepped aside.
“I hate it when you do that.” Pavel tossed Molly into the air and then caught her, to her squealing delight. “See into the future. Answer questions…”
“Short questions.”
“…short questions before they are asked. That’s creepy, X-Files stuff.”
“More like P.T. Barnum.”
“Who?”
“Circus guy. Tricks, you know?”
“Oh, hey! I’ve been meaning to ask. Where is your sister?” Pavel grinned at Timor. “I haven’t seen Katya in a while, but I already checked the bar, and…”
“Katya’s on assignment,” Timor said, with an uneasy smile. “Has been for a while. Hush-hush. You know how it is in the field.”
“Not really. I’m not the type for that sort of work,” Pavel admitted. “Is Katya okay, at the very least?”
“Of course,” Timor said, shrugging. “Katya’s always good.”
Timor played peek-a-boo with Diana, who continued to clutch her mother’s skirt.
“If you say so. You okay, man? You sound a little…”
Timor wrinkled his nose, and then sighed.
“What? Yes! Of course. I’m fine. It’s been a long day, that’s all.”
The anteroom was small, and the mess in baby Kirsten’s diaper Huian had just revealed was pungent.
“Yes,” Pavel said, laughing at Timor’s dismay. “I can see that.”
***
“Mistress?”
Anastasia said nothing, sitting in a makeup chair while Mai massaged her hands.
“You are angry, Mistress.”
Anastasia opened her eyes briefly, giving Mai an inquisitive look, before closing them again.
“Your father will not see reason, then?”
“He will not.”
Mai’s expression tightened.
“He offered terms?”
“Yes. Five years to lead the Black Sun through the conflict with the Hegemony…and approval of my marriage.”
Mai nodded, working out a knot in Anastasia’s palm below her thumb.
“What will you do?”
Anastasia did not open her eyes or respond, but Mai felt the tension in her hands, and was wise enough not to ask anything further.
Instead, Mai excused herself briefly, and found Renton.
***
They assembled near the entrance of the Great Hall. Rank and hierarchy did most of the sorting, and then senior Black Sun staff made discrete interventions to preserve propriety. Servants circulated with trays of drinks and appetizers, flitting through the crowd on last minute errands, nearly unnoticed by the celebrants. A pair of maids scattered red and white rose blossoms on the immaculately stained floors, while another pair tended to the many sconces and candelabras. Security was everywhere, and by ancient custom, the guests were discretely armed.
They waited with varying degrees of patience, with apprehension or pride or lost in nostalgia, they refused all drink or drank to excess. There was little conversation, and what there was of it was too loud, as thoughtless as tourists in a church. Those girls too young to debut watched with an especial intensity, their mothers distracted by memories of their own debuts, memories that therefore ranged from blissful to bitter. Th
ey waited in small groups, or by families, or by a variety of associations inherited in years of semi-cooperative business, socializing, and intermarriage. In the quiet corners of the room, servants clustered, invisible until they were needed.
Dresses were evaluated, suits admired, sartorial decisions questioned or lauded. Heirloom jewelry not seen in a generation or more decorated fingers, ears, and necks. Suffering in the name of enduring fashion was widespread, and for good reason. More than just marriages would be made this evening, and the Greater Hall simmered with varied and conflicting ambitions.
The debutants would make their arrival at midnight, by tradition. Accordingly, a great old round clock with a face the color of fresh soap hung over the entry way, inviting the guests to count the minutes as the time for the debut approached. The servants plied the guests with champagne and rebuffed premature calls for stronger spirits, while maids offered stern reminders to those guests who forgot or ignored the prohibition on smoking.
They waited, and were watched, and knew that they were watched. As midnight approached, the Great Families began to filter in, by company and by family, and tension in the Great Hall increased accordingly. Sensing that, the servants countered with platters of caviar and crab cake, Italian cheeses and charcuterie, and fresh bottles of sparkling wine.
A second attempt by the guests at premature procurement of vodka met with no more success than the first.
***
The young men of the cartel formed an honor guard around the entrance of the Great Hall, a neat line on either side of the door. Pavel organized relatives, friends, and honored allies into two appropriate columns, mindful of social niceties and rank. At one point, there would have been drawn swords, to create an arch above the debutants, but Anastasia’s mother had done away with the dying tradition. The men wore white gloves and matching black suits or dress uniforms, ties and pocket handkerchiefs incorporating the red field and black sun of the cartel heraldry. The older men and the women clustered around the honor guard and murmured impatiently.
The string ensemble began to play, and the crowd hushed.
By tradition, the debutants should have arrived in alphabetical order. In this sense, at least, Anastasia was determined not to be traditional. Ilyana Medvedkova and Su Gao entered together on their father’s arms, clutching bouquets and wearing flowing white gowns, tiaras woven from wildflowers, and their mothers’ jewelry, to a crescendo from the small orchestra, warm applause, and a salute from the honor guard. Ilyana’s face was flushed with excitement, while Su wore her father’s cultivated lack of expression.
There was a pause, a notable separation, some of the crowd exchanging glances and shocked looks. The music shifted seamlessly into the strident theme of the Martynova family.
Anastasia made her entrance in a red floor length gown, a rising black sun done in black lace across the front of her corset, above the subtle rise of her bust. Her hair was done up high and in curls, pinned back with crimson roses and the jade combs she had inherited from her mother. On the ring finger of her offhand, she wore her grandmother’s modest engagement ring; the tiara, necklace, and earrings she wore were the Martynova family jewels, all former possessions of a tsar’s wife, glittering with rose-cut diamonds and flawless rubies. Josef Martynova walked somberly beside her, eyes tired and swollen. Flanking her train on either side were Donner and Blitzen, black coats polished to resplendency and chains of silver-set diamonds looped around their necks. Timor and Renton followed, Mai on Timor’s arm as Renton escorted Svetlana.
Anastasia carried a bouquet of roses, sunset-red around the base and the deepening further up the petal into a violet nearly indistinguishable from black.
***
“It feels like they grow up when they are out of our sight, in fits and bursts.” Lady Gao sipped an excessively dry Chablis at a small table with Josef Martynova. “Daniel was a little boy not so long ago, and I don’t recall him becoming the man I see before me today at all. And my sister’s little Su, grown already…”
Josef nodded, his exhaustion plainly evident.
“I am a grandfather,” he said, turning a small glass of black-pepper infused vodka between his hands. “Pavel is nearly as old as I was when I married his mother. Now Ana…she becomes more like her mother with every passing day. She has inherited so much of her mother’s beauty, and all her ambition.”
“Yes. That must be difficult for you, at times.”
Josef just nodded, lost in contemplation of the rapidly clearing dance floor, beneath the vast chandeliers of the Great Hall. The orchestra finished tuning and sat at nervous attention, the conductor adjusting his cufflinks. The debutants were assembled in one corner of the room, and preparations for the cotillion had begun.
“That dress,” Lady Gao said softly, watching Anastasia play with her younger sisters, spinning with them in a circle in the middle of the emptying dance floor. “My memory is not what it was, but is it…?”
“A reproduction, apparently, but a damned good one, if you ask me.”
“Of course. Still, she takes after her mother, does she not, Lord Martynova?”
“In so many ways, Lady Gao.”
***
Mai hovered close beside her when Josef Martynova approached the debutant’s private corner, but she need not have worried. Anastasia’s curtsey was practiced and perfect. Her father took her arm fondly, cheeks ruddy with drink.
To the surprise of all, he pulled her aside, waving away Mai and the other debutants.
“My daughter!” Josef gave her a glassy-eyed smiled. “Perfect, like your mother. You are destined to surpass me, Ana, and I personally feel nothing but pride, and perhaps a bit of resignation, that I could not accomplish more. I was too harsh, when we spoke earlier. Again, just like your mother. I said too many things I regret to her, as well, and then I was deprived of the opportunity to make amends.”
“Father…”
“Hush! I am not as drunk as you believe. What you see is the joy of a father whose daughter has become a woman of integrity and ambition. Allow me to say what I should have said earlier.” Josef held her by the shoulders and beamed. “Allow me to set my affairs to right, to see my beloved cartel through one last storm, and then I will make a present of the Black Sun to you. Allow me to serve you, and the Black Sun, in this way one final time, and then take it all, with my blessing. That is what I should have said to you, daughter, on the day of your debut.”
“Oh, father.” Anastasia touched his rough cheek, stubbly despite having shaved that afternoon. “You and Uncle Shijun have been at the vodka, haven’t you?”
“Not much,” he protested. “Only a little.”
“The night is long, father,” she chided, smiling. “You have responsibilities.”
“I swept your mother from her feet at her employer’s debut. I am certain, daughter, that you will find my dancing respectable.”
“Then I am flattered by your words, father, and suggest that you pace yourself.”
“Anastasia – answer me plainly. You have heard my words, those I regret, and those I intended. What are your thoughts?”
“Father…”
“Now, Anastasia. Answer me.”
“Tonight, I am solely your daughter,” Anastasia said, with downcast eyes and a small courtesy. “And your daughter obeys you in all things.”
“And tomorrow?”
“I cannot say, my Lord…but whatever course I choose, it will be for the good of the Black Sun, and not my own. You have taught me well, father.”
“Aha,” he said, taking her arm as they returned to the procession, “but what lessons have I taught you?”
Sixteen
Ériu crouched nearby, petting Derrida and watching Katya with obvious good humor. They rested near the mouth of a shallow valley. The view was obscured by the Changeling and the dog, but what Katya could see was lifeless and sheer, the elevation dropping rapidly from the point they occupied.
“Are you feeling well, Katya?”
“Not particularly. What was that?”
“You were right in thinking that situation was dire. I have come in gratitude, for your patience in dealing with an impetuous child.”
“Yeah, that all sounds great, but what did you actually do?”
“An operation, a modest shaping.” Ériu finished the explanation with a meek shrug that rang false to Katya. “Please look after Eerie in what time remains, won’t you?”
The golden hue was draining from Ériu’s eyes, Katya noticed with alarm, and her pupils were rapidly dilating.
“Wait a minute, Ériu!” Katya called, rushing over to Ériu. “You have to help!”
“I have helped,” she said, a hint of a strange music to her voice. “Or I have tried.”
“Ériu, you have to tell me what you did…”
“I have created a small opportunity where none existed before. To say more would imperil the possibility, for it is new and fragile.” Ériu’s voice swelled with its characteristic music. “You should probably go now.”
“What? Ériu, I don’t…”
“You must leave, quickly! My protocol has awakened the Church. Please be patient with Eerie. She is in love.”
“Love? I don’t care about that…”
The Changeling shuddered and keeled over, and Katya caught her by reflex. Her eyelids fluttered and her throat flexed, blue veins protruding from her waxen skin. Katya spent an anxious several minutes watching Eerie’s irregular respiration, monitoring her thin pulse, and wondering if the Changeling was dying.
It was such a relief, when Eerie opened her dilated eyes, that Katya hugged her.
“Katya? Did something…are we friends now?”
The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4) Page 36