She tried desperately to remember every tiny mention Kevessa had made of ball etiquette. They’d expected to have weeks for Nirel to learn all the details under Kevessa’s patient tutelage. Kevessa had assured Nirel that any small slips on her part would be excused as the charming eccentricities expected of a foreigner. Somehow Nirel doubted the same would hold true for major breaches of proper behavior.
It was too late to worry now. Nirel would have to muddle through by careful observation and imitation of the other ball guests.
Ahead of them, a trio of guests paused before the open doors, conversing with one of the uniformed men flanking the entrance. Nirel leaned to the side until she caught a glimpse of one of the guests displaying a familiar-looking sheet of parchment to the doorman. He waved a white-gloved hand, and they swept through the doors.
Nirel fumbled with her purse. She managed to extract the invitation in time to smoothly and without any sign of the fluster she felt present it to the door’s guardian. He looked at it carefully before handing it back and ushering them in with the same sweeping gesture.
She tugged Kabos with her into the house. He glowered silently. She could tell by his stiff and emotionless demeanor that he was even more nervous than she was. Her task tonight might have been easier if she’d been able to leave him behind. But Kevessa had said it was unthinkable for a young person to attend a ball without a parent to escort them. And Kabos certainly wouldn’t have let her come alone. Still, she doubted he’d be very successful making small talk or engaging in cheerful gossip, the usual role of parent chaperones. He’d probably stand around all night, scowling at anyone who tried to talk to him. At least no one would expect him to dance.
The long, tall passage was brightly lit by many flickering lamps. Ahead and to the right a cluster of people waited in front of another wide set of doors. Heart pounding, Nirel moved to join them.
Every minute or two the doors opened, releasing a swirl of music and laughing voices. A small group of guests would enter, and the doors would swing closed again.
Another liveried man reached for the invitation Nirel still clutched. She surrendered it, and he studied it. His brows furrowed in a deep frown, then suddenly arched. “Ah. You’re the foreigners. Lady Yovella left instructions for your introduction.” He narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. “You will understand that she found the surnames you use in your homeland somewhat… uncouth. Therefore she’s taken the liberty of using a more harmonious formulation.”
“Of course.” Nirel nodded, trying her best to convey relaxed unconcern. Within, she fumed. What was wrong with their names? “Knitterkin” and “Farmer” might not sound as fancy as “Navorre” or “Legarre,” but they translated into Ramunnan well enough.
The man cracked one of the doors open and peered through, holding up a hand to still Nirel and Kabos. At some signal from within, he nodded to his fellow, and the two of them swept the doors open in one swift movement. Nirel put up her chin and strode forward, pulling Kabos with her. She found herself on a raised dais, elevated several feet above the main level of the ballroom, in clear view of everyone.
“Lord Kabos of Tevenarre and his daughter Lady Nirel of Tevenarre,” boomed a loud voice. Nirel was sure it must be audible throughout the huge room, even over the music and conversation. Heads turned their way and eager eyes sought them.
Nirel swallowed and bent her knees in the best curtsy she could manage. Mortified, she realized Kabos remained erect. “Bow!” she hissed through her fixed smile.
He bent stiffly at the waist. Nirel waited until the wave of enthusiastic applause died down before straightening. She clutched Kabos’s arm and navigated the steps down into the room.
A mob of strangers swarmed around them, all clamoring to get their attention. Most of them were smiling, although a few wore reserved expressions. But Nirel couldn’t tell which of the smiles were truly welcoming, and which were masks concealing hostility.
She held up a hand. “Pardon, please.” She was careful to use the refined pronunciations Kevessa had taught her, but deliberately failed to adjust the finer points of her instinctive Tevenaran phrasing into the Ramunnan style. “I am not yet good with your language. I speak only a little. My father, even less. I will answer your questions if I can, but please speak slowly, one by one.”
The crowd murmured apologies. Nirel searched the ring of faces and settled on a boy a year or two older than she. He didn’t have a girl on his arm, as most of the others did, and his face seemed friendly. “What did you say?”
He nodded to her. “Welcome to Ramunna, Lady Nirel, Lord Kabos. My name is Mansan Govath. Are you enjoying your stay here?”
“Yes, very much.”
“It must be very different from your homeland. We’ve heard so many rumors about your people and your country since you arrived. It’s hard to know what’s true. All of us are eager to hear whatever you’d like to share with us.” He flashed her a winning smile.
She smiled back, trying to decide whether his friendliness was genuine or feigned. “I will be happy to tell you all about my home. But first, I was told it is the custom to greet our hostess?”
“Of course.” Mansan glanced over his shoulder. “Let me take you to Lady Yovella. She’s over there by the musicians.” He held out his arm.
Nirel released her father’s arm and took Mansan’s. She thought she heard a few envious sounds, but ignored them. Kabos clung close to her heels as Mansan led her across the room. The rest of the crowd followed in a tight cluster, unwilling to surrender their proximity to the foreigners.
Lady Yovella was a large middle-aged woman with a commanding presence. As they drew near, Nirel heard her voice over the ambient noise. “—three more pieces to allow the last few guests to arrive, and then begin the dances.”
She turned and swept to meet the approaching group. “Lady Nirel, I’m so glad you’re here! Nimika was so excited to hear that you would be coming. Especially after her dear friend Kevessa left Ramunna so abruptly.” Lady Yovella’s eyes fixed avidly on Nirel. “It was all anyone could talk about for days. Lady Alitta was quite beside herself when her niece disappeared.”
Nirel kept a polite expression plastered on her face. “Kevessa was pleased when the opportunity to travel with her father arose.”
Yovella was silent for a moment, clearly waiting for more. When Nirel gazed blandly at her, her smile faded. “They say she left her home in the middle of the night…” Her voice trailed upward.
“I’m sorry.” Nirel did her best to look innocently apologetic. “I know nothing more about it.”
Yovella’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then she waved her hand. “No matter. I see you’ve met Mansan. He’s a lovely young man. Mansan, why don’t you introduce her around. Lady Nirel, the dancing will begin soon. Will you wish to participate?”
“Yes, please, although I have only learned a little of your dances.”
“You’ll do fine. Everyone will be happy to teach you. Mansan, if you’d partner her for the first dance, and make sure she’s not neglected after that. Lord Kabos, why don’t you come with me. While the youngsters have their fun, there are a number of people I know will be delighted to meet you.” Yovella took Kabos’s arm and steered him toward the far wall, where a cluster of people stood around with wine glasses, occasionally helping themselves to treats offered by servants with silver trays. The older people in the group around Nirel accompanied them, leaving her surrounded by girls and boys her own age or slightly older.
Mansan grinned at her. “She told the musicians three pieces, so there will be plenty of time for you to tell us about Tevenar before the dancing starts. Here, this is Orlarre, and Shanna, and Kenonel…”
Nirel paid close attention as he named his companions. But none of them was the one she’d been instructed to seek out. She glanced around surreptitiously. Many other young men and women were scattered around the huge ballroom. She’d have to be patient. There was no way she could ask about the boy she so
ught without raising suspicions.
Mansan pulled her toward the opposite wall from where the parents gathered, farther from the musicians so it was easier to hear each other. More and more people joined their group, and Mansan rattled their names at her. She struggled not to miss one.
“That’s enough names. I know you won’t be able to remember most of them anyway.” Mansan laughed, and Nirel echoed him, swallowing her frustration. He hadn’t gotten to half the people crowding around her. “Now it’s your turn. Tell us about Tevenar.”
“What do you want to hear? I could tell you about the guilds, they’re very different from the way things are done here. In Tevenar, most of you would be apprentices to one guild or another. You start when you’re thirteen. Then when you’re twenty, if the masters think you’re ready, you become a journeyman. I guess some of you are old enough. Journeymen don’t have to be directly supervised by masters. You can go into business for yourself and earn your own money. That’s when you can get married, if you want…”
Nirel trailed off. They were all listening politely, but without real interest.
A girl leaned forward. “What about the wizards? Tell us about them. Can they really do magic like the ancient wizards?”
“Yes!”
“Tell us about the wizards.”
“Are they real?”
“Are they really coming here?”
Nirel shrank from the torrent of eager questions. She glanced at Mansan, who grinned and waved negligently. The noise died down. “Go on,” he said.
She took a deep breath. She should have known this was the only subject anyone would care about. “Yes, the wizards are real. I’ve seen them use their power lots of times. The first time was when a wizard came to my home and healed my baby sister…”
She told the story in as much detail as she could remember, encouraged by the rapt fascination of her audience. They hung on every word of description she could muster about how the golden light had flowed through the air and transformed Ilana’s deformed face. Constant questions broke into her story, and she answered them at length.
When she could draw out the telling no longer, she cast around for anything else she could say about the wizards. Most of the other times she’d witnessed them using their power involved parts of her past she wasn’t willing to share. She couldn’t tell them that she’d been an outlaw, or that the wizards had snuck up on them as they slept, so she woke to find the gold light paralyzing her. Or about the long march back to Elathir, where she’d come to hate the power that had ceaselessly forced her to do the wizards’ will. She couldn’t tell them how Josiah had tried to sink their ship and failed. And most of all, she could never, ever admit to anyone, ever again, that the light of the wizards’ power had once sunk beneath her skin and changed her body.
A commotion arose at the ballroom entrance. Nirel welcomed the excuse to break off her tale and turn to look.
An elderly man in long, rich robes, very different from what the other men were wearing, strode in, chatting amiably with the doorman as he came. On his arm was a much younger, very beautiful woman. Beside them came a young man of around seventeen, handsome in a dark, brooding way.
The doorman nodded to the man and took his position, feet braced wide, arms behind his back. His voice boomed out. “Lord Emirre Rothen, First Keeper of Ramunna, his wife Lady Nathenarre Rothen, and his son, Lord Vigorre Rothen.” The trio bowed and curtsied in response to the crowd’s applause.
Nirel stiffened. Doing her best to keep her voice casual, she turned to Mansan. “First Keeper? I do not know this term.”
He shrugged. “It means he’s in charge of all the Temples and Keepers in Ramunna. He leads the big Springtide ceremonies, things like that. Tells everyone what the Mother wants.”
One of the girls smirked. “Mostly he says she wants more gold. To build bigger and fancier Temples. And to keep the Keepers in the finest style.”
Another girl chimed in. “That’s his fifth wife. She’s younger than half his children. They’ve only been married three months, and I hear she’s pregnant already.”
The first girl sniggered. “How much do you want to wager it will be a seven-month child?”
All the girls and a few of the boys laughed. “A big, healthy one,” the second girl added. “What will that be, his twelfth?”
“Thirteenth, I think,” the first girl said.
Mansan turned his back on the gossiping girls. “Don’t pay them any mind. Vigorre’s not bad. A bit serious sometimes, but who can blame him? You’ll like him.” He waved toward the three newcomers descending the stairs. “Vigorre, over here!” He turned back to Nirel. “He’ll come over once he can get loose from his father.”
Nirel smiled and nodded, doing her best not to let her racing heart affect her breathing. “I would like to meet him.”
Mansan made a mocking grimace at her. “Remember, I get the first dance, at least.”
One of the other boys elbowed him. “You shouldn’t make it so easy on him. He should have to work to take her away from you.”
Mansan waved airily. “I’m just giving her the chance to see how much more fun I am than he is.” He cocked his head as a new strain of music wafted across the room. “Hey, there’s the first dance starting. Come on, Lady Nirel. Let’s show the rest of these jokers how it’s done.”
Nirel found Mansan’s attention both flattering and intimidating. But she couldn’t let him distract her from her purpose. She tried to sneak glances at Vigorre Rothen as Mansan led her into the middle of the room. Almost all the young people were hurrying to take their places in the beginning figure of the dance. But once the music transitioned into the opening strains, she had to give her full concentration to moving her feet in the proper patterns. Luckily this dance was one Kevessa had taught her, but she’d never actually done it with a group before. Several times she blundered in the wrong direction, disrupting the carefully forming and reforming patterns of bodies, but always her fellow dancers redirected her with tolerant smiles. She was glad this particular dance involved only minor interaction with one’s partner, no more than occasionally touching hands and circling around each other before moving off to perform similar moves with others.
As she circled to the far side of the room, she caught a glimpse of Kabos standing near the far wall. Three matronly ladies were taking turns chattering at him, trying to draw him into a conversation. Whenever one got him to produce a taciturn word or two, they broke into delighted giggles. Nirel smiled at the look of grim endurance on her father’s face.
When the music concluded, there was a brief pause as the dancers caught their breaths. Mansan took a pair of cups from a passing servant’s tray and handed her one. She sipped the cool fruit juice gratefully. Then a new strain of music began, and Mansan passed her to one of the other boys who had been in their group. He whirled off with another girl before she could ask him about Vigorre.
For the third dance, she found herself with yet another partner. This dance was difficult, and she had to focus on not making a complete fool of herself. When it was over, she stood panting, wishing her stays didn’t restrict her chest so much.
“There will be a break before the next one,” her partner told her.
“Thank the Mother,” she blurted without thinking.
He laughed at her. “I quite agree. Look, they’ve brought out more food.” He led her to a long table where most of the other young people were clustered.
Mansan waved to her. “There you are, Nirel. Come over here.”
She bobbed her head in farewell to her partner and made her way through the crowd to him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her through a cluster of girls. “Vigorre, there’s someone you’ve got to meet. Nirel, this is Vigorre Rothen. Vigorre, this is Lady Nirel. She’s one of the visitors from Tevenar.”
Nirel curtsied, her mind racing. She had to figure out a way to speak at length with the First Keeper’s son in order to carry out the mission Elder Davon had given her.
/> Vigorre made it easy. His dark eyes took her in with immediate interest. “I’m happy to meet one of our guests from across the sea.”
She met his eyes boldly for a moment before dropping hers. “Everyone here has made me very welcome.”
“I hope to do the same. Would you do me the honor of joining me in the next dance?”
“I would like that. As long as you realize that I am not very practiced in your dances and will need guidance.”
“It will be my pleasure.” Vigorre swept her a bow. His attitude was earnest, with none of the teasing mockery Mansan would have put into the gesture. Nirel bobbed a quick curtsey in reply.
It took no effort to remain at Vigorre’s side as they helped themselves to generous portions of the dainty, delicious treats laid out on the tables. He seemed just as interested in remaining in her company as she was in staying with him. He wasn’t very talkative, but he listened to the conversation that ebbed and flowed around them, occasionally offering a word or two of explanation to Nirel when the gossip turned to people she didn’t know. Nirel found his quiet refreshing. It gave her time to think about what she would say.
The musicians struck up a new tune, its gentle, lilting strains drifting across the room. The crowd reacted with an intensity at odds with the pleasant music. The young people applauded and hurried to find partners and move into the dancing area. The parents murmured with various degrees of disapproval.
Vigorre arched one eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have thought Lady Yovella would allow a waltz at her ball. I suppose she must care more for fashion than propriety, after all.” He inclined his head to Nirel. “I’ll excuse you from our agreement, if you prefer not to share such an intimate dance with a stranger.”
Nirel eyed the couples in the middle of the room. They were standing much closer together than for any of the previous dances, one pair of hands clasped, the other arms circling each other’s waists. As the music reached the end of the introduction and shifted into the main section, the couples stepped off in graceful unison, swaying around the floor arm in arm.
The Law of Isolation Page 41