“Except perhaps a scheming, fair-weather High Holder,” added Chelia. “Or one who has to be constantly reminded he lives on sufferance.”
Charyn knew exactly whom she meant … and why. His mother might forgive, occasionally, very occasionally, but she never forgot. He smiled pleasantly and took a small sip of the white wine, content to listen as much as possible, rather than to talk. He still had more than a little preparation to complete before the ball.
21
Although the snow stopped late on Meredi evening, even by Vendrei morning only the main avenues were passable, but Charyn definitely wanted to see what the trading at the exchange was like, since as the thirty-fourth day of Finitas, Vendrei was the last trading day of the year. He was assuming that there would be more going on than he’d seen in the past week because agents and traders had to balance out their ledger in some fashion. At least, he thought they did. In any event, it should be instructive in some fashion or another.
Because the snow had limited travel and those seeking to see his father, Charyn only spent a few moments with Norstan, but he did obtain a copy of the list of those attending the Year-Turn Ball, which he took to his chambers and slipped into a drawer. He’d need to study the list later in the day, something he’d put off longer than he should have. Then he donned a heavy winter coat and made his way to the rear courtyard and the waiting coach. The air was chill, and Charyn could see patches of ice in the lower places between some of the paving stones. His breath was like smoke, and he was more than glad that the coach had been warmed somewhat by heated bricks. Their heat wouldn’t last, and the return ride would be much colder.
Should you go at all?
He pushed aside the question. Year-end trading happened only once a year, and who knew when he’d get another chance?
The trip to the exchange took more than a glass because the passable parts of the avenues and streets were narrowed by the snow pushed or shoveled to the sides. When he arrived, he was glad that he’d worn heavy boots because he had to walk through snow that was knee-deep in a few places before he got to the cleared walks leading to the main doors. At least, the wind isn’t blowing.
Again, the exchange guards barely looked at Charyn’s exchange pin, but he had no idea whether that was because they recognized him or because they were already too cold to care.
As he walked toward the grains stalls, Charyn couldn’t help but notice a number of agents at almost every stall, but only a comparative handful of individuals wearing the pins of factors or full factors. He saw a few faces he’d seen before, not that he knew their names, but he didn’t see Elthyrd.
He stood to the side of the stall to watch the wheat trading, where it appeared that the chalked futures prices were changing, both up and down in a matter of moments, especially for grain to be delivered in Mayas. Because of the early and cold weather in Finitas? He listened but didn’t hear any talk. Those present all seemed intent on the chalked prices, as someone offered a contract or bid on it.
In time, he moved to the spice trading, where pepper prices were changing, if not so quickly … and not fluctuating, but slowly rising, as if no one believed that pepper would be easier to get. Seeing that there was little talk there, Charyn made a slow circuit of the entire exchange.
When he finished, he realized that he’d seen far fewer factors than he’d thought initially, and it appeared as though most of the trading and bidding was by traders and agents. To balance ledgers? Or to shift losses or gains into the current year or the next one? Those were only guesses on Charyn’s part, something he needed to talk over with Elthyrd or someone else with similar experience.
When he left the exchange, slightly more than a glass later, he found it was no warmer outside, but no colder either. The coach ride back to the Chateau D’Rex was as cold as he’d feared. He entered the rear foyer and hurried up the grand staircase, half-listening to someone playing the clavecin, either Palenya or Malyna, since there were no mistakes and no halting, and half-wondering if he’d be summoned once more to his father’s study, but no one seemed to be seeking him, and he reached his sitting room without encountering anyone.
He immediately slid the latch bar into place, took off his heavy coat and hung it up, then retrieved the invitation list and laid it on the otherwise bare desk. Next he took out his personal journal, a pen, and an inkwell.
One of his own weaknesses, Charyn knew, was that he had trouble linking names to faces unless he’d met someone several times or unless he’d read their name and found out some information about them. Like it or not, he also needed to dance with as many of the eligible young women who would be trotted out by their parents. Not because he was looking to be married, but because he definitely wanted to know which of the young women would not appeal to him under any circumstances.
He looked at the pages set out on his table desk, then walked to the window, pulled back the heavy hangings, and looked out through the partly frosted window. Except for the drive to the chateau and the ring road, snow seemed to cover everything else, and a chill radiated from the window, despite the weak white early afternoon sunlight. There was even frost on the windowsill below the pane.
After several moments, he stepped back, leaving the window hangings slightly open, trying to get a bit more light into the sitting room. Finally, he returned to the desk and stared at the first page of the attendance list. In time, he began to read the names, and to enter the names of possibly eligible daughters of High Holders, along with the names of each daughter’s parents. More like a copybook penmanship chore.
Was that because he doubted that any other of the High Holders’ daughters would be as intelligent and as attractive as Malyna?
Probably.
He knew Malyna wasn’t interested in him in the slightest, not in any romantic way, and with his mother clearly opposed to his seeking to even get closer to Malyna, there wasn’t a Namer’s chance with the Nameless that he could even raise the issue. And he didn’t want to … not if Malyna wasn’t interested.
At the same time, he also didn’t want to become indifferent and become involved with a young woman who simply saw him as a means to wealth and power. As if there’s as much power in being rex as anyone thinks. From what his mother had said, and from what he’d overheard, his grandmother had been that kind of woman, and it had contributed to his grandsire’s unfortunate and early death.
With a long deep breath, he forced his concentration back to the list, knowing he’d make a fool of himself—or come off as frivolous and unconcerned—if he didn’t remember a good share of the names of those who might prove of interest. And when he finished going over the shorter list he was creating, then he’d have to go back over the notes he’d taken from the last Year-Turn Ball to see what young women were returning … and which he wished to avoid … and why.
He kept writing and concentrating, knowing that he should have started on the task far earlier.
Far earlier.
22
At just a few moments before half past seventh glass on Samedi evening, Charyn positioned himself on the far side of the grand staircase, beside one of the gilded urns, from where he could watch those entering the grand ballroom without being noticed … and, equally important, hear the herald announce them.
The first two couples were younger, and did not bring daughters. Nor did the next three, all of whom were older. Then came a High Holder pair of middling age, escorting a daughter Charyn was certain he had not seen before. He listened intently.
“High Holder Kastyl, Lady Kastyl, and Faerlyna D’Kastyl…”
Faerlyna … brown-haired, blue gown trimmed in peach … father Kastyl … Charyn concentrated on retaining that for an instant before turning his attention to the next young woman accompanying her parents.
“High Holder Nacryon, Lady Nacryon, Cynthalya D’Nacryon…”
For the next quint, he took in names and tried to fix details in his mind.
“High Holder Baeltyn, Lady Baeltyn, Shael
yna D’Baeltyn…”
“High Holder Fhernon, Lady Fhernon, and Ferron D’Fhernon-Alte…”
For a moment, Charyn was surprised that Fhernon even had an heir, but then he hadn’t been paying attention to the senior heirs. He’d just been concentrating on the daughters.
“High Holder Shendael and Alyncya D’Shendael-Alte…”
Alyncya … father widowed … and she’s the heir … interesting …
“Lady Delcoeur and Ferrand D’Delcoeur-Alte…”
Charyn nodded. That made sense. No one would ignore Ferrand the way they would shun his father—because of High Holder Delcoeur’s considerable debts, although more than a few would suspect Ferrand of dowry hunting. Charyn needed to make a point of talking to Ferrand. Ferrand had enough problems without being shunned by his cousin.
Charyn wished he could have observed longer, but he needed to be in the sitting room not that much later than his siblings—and Malyna—and definitely before their parents arrived.
Still, Charyn was likely half a quint late when he stepped into the small sitting room that adjoined the grand ballroom, since he was expected to be there two quints before the glass. He wasn’t looking forward to the next quint or so. While the Year-Turn Ball began officially at half past seventh glass, Charyn knew that his father and the High Councilors had an understanding that the councilors were not expected until eighth glass. Since the rex and his family could not appear until just before the High Councilors arrived, and since Lorien insisted that his offspring all appear in the sitting room at two quints before the glass … that meant two quints spent with Aloryana and Bhayrn … and Malyna. Aloryana alone would have been fine, and he certainly wouldn’t have minded the time with Malyna, but with the other two there, especially given Bhayrn’s clear dislike of the entire ball, having three siblings in a small room, even with an outsider, was likely not a recipe for harmony.
“You’re late,” snapped Bhayrn, from where he stood beside the sideboard that would hold refreshments—but did not at the moment. He looked sourly at his older brother.
“Only a few moments.” Charyn hadn’t even brought the small bound volume he continually updated, just in case his memory failed him, because his siblings would note if he referred to it, and so most likely would Malyna, and that would counter the very impression he worked so hard to cultivate. He smiled ironically as he closed the door from the private corridor. The small orchestra was not playing in the ballroom, but Palenya was at the clavecin, offering occasional music, not dance music, since the dancing to the orchestra would not begin until after the five High Councilors were announced and the rex received the Maitre and his wife.
Aloryana already sat on one of the straight-backed chairs, adjusting her position every few moments, in between glances at the doorway from the small sitting room to the grand ballroom. She wore a high-necked ball gown of pale blue, trimmed in a darker blue, with that trim edged in the thinnest line of white lace. The lace was minimal, not to give the impression of avoiding ostentation, but because too much white would make his sister’s fair skin look pasty. Her hair was swept back and held in place by silver clasps adorned by dark blue sapphires.
Charyn frowned. Something about the silver clasps and the sapphires looked familiar. Had one of the clasps been what Aloryana had dropped and been so upset about, as if she had broken it, but hadn’t wanted to tell him? Or something similar?
Malyna sat beside Aloryana, also wearing a high-necked gown, but of a deep teal that fringed on the regial colors, suggesting a relationship to the regial line, a color, he realized, that she had every right to wear, but one that might cause a certain amount of comment.
Bhayrn was attired in manner similar to Charyn. Both wore close-fitting jackets of regial green, trimmed in silver, with pale green shirts and black cravats, black trousers, with black belts and silver buckles, and highly polished black dress boots.
Charyn smiled. “It will all be over in less than three glasses.”
“Three long and tedious glasses,” countered Bhayrn.
“I’d prefer that you not make it be over before it even begins,” said Aloryana.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Charyn declared.
“That’s because every High Holder with an attractive daughter will be pushing her at you,” said Bhayrn. “All the others will be looking at me.”
Only until Father finds a suitable bride for me. Then your turn will come. Charyn didn’t bother saying that. Bhayrn wasn’t in the mood to hear it. “There just might be some shier beauties. They’re often the best.” He glanced at Malyna.
“Shyness is often perceived erroneously,” she replied.
“Sometimes, brothers are awful,” said Aloryana to Malyna.
The two young women shared a smile.
“Your turn will come as well,” prophesied Charyn. “When you’re older.”
“It might not.”
“Oh?” said Charyn. “You’re the daughter of the rex. You don’t think High Holders and their sons won’t be interested?”
For a long moment, Aloryana was silent before saying quietly, “It might not work that way.”
“You’ve been telling us you’d be here, even before Father decided,” pointed out Bhayrn.
“That’s different. I knew I’d be here tonight.”
“How?” asked Bhayrn, scornfully.
“I knew. I just did.”
Charyn concealed a frown. When Aloryana said something that way, she was almost never wrong. But then, how could she not be at the Year-Turn Ball once she was of age to attend, if only to make the High Holders aware that she was a functioning family member and would be a suitable wife for someone in years to come? Yet even when the snow had been pouring down, she’d been absolutely convinced … She was just wagering on Father’s stubbornness. Still …
“Likely tale,” scoffed Bhayrn.
Charyn noticed a momentary expression of concern cross Malyna’s face, one quickly replaced by a faint smile.
He settled into a chair he positioned so that he could talk to, or at least look directly at, the other three, knowing that while the first of the High Holders—and their daughters—had only begun to dribble into the grand ballroom, others were doubtless ascending the grand staircase, while the coaches of the Maitre and High Councilors would not arrive until roughly a half quint before the glass. He could hear an occasional voice or two through the closed door to the ballroom during lulls in the music.
“Who will you dance with first?” Bhayrn asked Charyn, almost halfheartedly.
“Aloryana. The first dance begins with the rex and his lady and the rest of the regial family.”
“That’s not much of a choice.”
“That includes Malyna,” Aloryana said sweetly. “She’s a distant relative, but a relative.”
Bhayrn said nothing for a moment, then finally said, “No one told me that.”
“Her gown should have told you that,” added Aloryana. “She couldn’t wear that color or appear with us unless she’s related.”
“No one tells me anything,” snapped Bhayrn. He turned to Charyn. “Did you know?”
“She’s a descendant of the sister of the first Rex Regis,” Charyn replied. “It’s in the archives. Anyway, after the first dance, it’s up to you. You can dance or not. Father won’t care that much. Mother will. You know the rules. You can’t dance with the same partner two dances in a row, and no more than two dances with any—”
“I know!” snapped Bhayrn.
“I wasn’t sure you were listening this morning…”
“Will you dance every dance, Charyn?” asked Aloryana sweetly.
“That will depend on my feet and my boots.”
“What’s the point?” asked Bhayrn with a snort. “Meaningless chatter for half a quint at most with someone you’ll see for the same fraction of a quint twice or three times a year for the next twenty.”
“Won’t there be some friends there?” asked Malyna.
“Ther
e might be,” replied Charyn, “if they’re the eldest unmarried son of a High Holder. Ferrand is here, I know.”
“Hunting for a rich dowry,” sneered Bhayrn.
“He’s still my friend,” declared Charyn, looking to Malyna and adding, “You might see a few people you know.”
“That would be nice.” Malyna’s tone was pleasant.
At perhaps half a quint before the glass, the side door from the corridor opened, and Lorien and Chelia entered. The rex wore a jacket and trousers similar to those of his sons, except for the addition of a gold-edged deep green formal sash. Chelia wore a high-necked teal gown with long tapered sleeves.
Charyn immediately stood. Bhayrn turned. Aloryana and Malyna rose swiftly, but later than Charyn.
“It’s time to enter,” announced Lorien.
“Charyn, you escort Aloryana, and Bhayrn will escort Malyna,” announced Chelia.
The fact that Bhayrn would escort Malyna, with the color of her gown, would indicate that the regial family accepted her familial link.
That was a slight departure from the usual order of precedence, when Chayrn, as the heir, would have escorted his mother, although, being of age, he was officially first in the line of succession, rather than requiring a regency.
Bhayrn extended his arm to Malyna, then opened the door to the ballroom, and the two stepped out. Immediately, the players began the “Processional of the Rex.”
Charyn moved beside Aloryana and offered his arm.
She took it. Once they were inside the ballroom, she said, “It’s different being here, rather than watching.”
“It’s always different when you’re part of something.”
“I’ll always remember this.”
“You’ll have more than enough balls to remember.”
“This one … will be … special.”
Charyn wondered at the pause, but only said, “It is your first. There’s something special about that.”
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