“How did he learn to be an imager . . . ?”
I tried to answer or deflect the questions, either with careful words or by retreating into eating the gravied pork chops and rice fries, but I was more tired after lunch than I’d been before I’d eaten.
When I left the dining hall, I saw Shault waiting in the corridor outside. After a single quick glance at me, he didn’t look at me again, but he didn’t move, either.
I walked over to him. “Shault?”
“Yes, sir?” His eyes avoided mine.
“Horazt isn’t an imager, and he hasn’t done anything to upset the Collegium. The Collegium doesn’t have anything against taudischefs if they don’t create trouble for us. Horazt hasn’t done that, and he certainly hasn’t tried to attack any patrollers. He’s helped me several times.”
The boy looked up, finally.
“I know you worry, but you don’t have to worry about that.” I paused. “How is your mother?”
“She’s fine, sir.” He glanced to one side. “I need to meet Master Ghaend soon, sir.”
“I won’t keep you, then.”
“Yes, sir.” He swallowed, then murmured, “Thank you.” He hurried away without looking back.
I’d always wondered about Horazt and Shault, but now I knew.
Given what likely faced me that evening, when I finished eating lunch in the dining hall, I returned to my quarters to think and plan. After thinking and re-thinking for almost four glasses, and trying not to think about Rousel and what I feared was inevitable, and then hurrying over to the dining hall and eating dinner quickly, I returned to my rooms and dressed carefully in the black formal attire I’d received earlier. I was careful to slip some poison imaging detection strips inside my jacket and to place the silver imager’s pin on the left breast of the formal black jacket. As with the Harvest Ball, the Council’s Autumn Ball began officially at eighth glass, which was why I had to meet Master Dichartyn at half past seven.
I did arrive at the duty coach stop before he did, if only by a few moments. Already, the evening was promising to be chill and windy, but clear. There were two coaches waiting, and Master Dichartyn gestured to the first one. “Baratyn and the others can take the second.”
After holding the door for him, I climbed up into the coach and closed the door.
Once we had pulled away, he looked at me. “You know that High Holder Ryel will be there tonight?”
“I’d thought he would be.”
“Nothing must happen to him this evening.”
“I had not planned on anything, sir, except dancing with his daughter, should she be here.”
“She is on the guest list, as is Madame D’Shendael. Madame D’Shendael has requested that you invite her to dance with you, for some reason.”
“I expressed sympathy at the loss of her father, without ever overtly connecting them.” I didn’t ask how Master Dichartyn had come to receive that request. He would have told me if he’d wanted me to know, and I was tired of begging for scraps of information and being refused.
“If you would be so discreet with other matters . . .”
“I intend to be the soul of discretion this evening, sir, but I will continue to keep my eyes and abilities ready for any other troublemakers.”
He laughed. “Was that intentional?”
“Me, sir?” I smiled innocently. “I’m merely the son of a factor who has much to learn about High Holders and their society and comings and goings.” That was totally true, in more ways than the words conveyed.
“Rhennthyl . . . when you talk like that, I must confess to a certain concern.”
He should have a concern, I thought, but not tonight, at least not on my account. “I understand my position with regard to High Holder Ryel and the Collegium, sir.”
He nodded, but I could sense a certain skepticism.
Once the coach arrived at the curb of the ring road around Council Hill, opposite the side door used by imagers, I followed Master Dichartyn through the side gate and past the guard and up the narrow steps, inside the Council Chateau and past a second guard.
“Good evening, maitres.”
“Good evening,” replied Master Dichartyn.
I echoed his salutation.
We walked along the lower corridor that led to the foot of the grand staircase. When we reached the ceremonial guards, standing just forward of the two statues of winged angelicas rising from the pedestals that formed the bottom of the rose marble balustrade, I smiled. I couldn’t help but recall my comments to my father the first time I’d seen the winged figures with their impossibly small wings and equally impossibly large individual feathers.
Master Dichartyn didn’t pause but began to climb the stairs. I walked beside him.
“You don’t have any fixed station tonight, not that such has hindered you before,” he said dryly. “If you see trouble, try to handle it quietly . . . please.”
“Yes, sir.”
We stood by the archway into the great receiving hall, waiting.
The first carriage arrived in the drive usually restricted to councilors at a quint before eighth glass, followed within moments by another, for almost none wanted to be the first to arrive. Another quint passed before figures appeared in the main floor grand foyer and began to pass the ceremonial guards and ascend the grand staircase, slowly and deliberately, taking far more time than necessary on the grand staircase.
Master Dichartyn nodded to me, and we retreated into the hall proper.
“Councilor Alucion D’Artisan and Madame D’Alucion!” The deep voice announcing the first arrival boomed from the same small balding man who had announced arrivals at the last Ball and whose name I still did not know. He stood at the left side of the center archway into the great receiving hall. Behind him, inside the hall, were the three councilors on the Executive Council, who formed a receiving line of sorts.
Baratyn stood against the east wall of the hall, past the councilors, while Dartazn and Martyl were along the west wall.
“Councilor Sabatyon D’Factorius and Madame D’Sabatyon!”
“Commander Artois D’Patrol and Madame D’Artois!”
That surprised me, because Commander Artois hadn’t been at the previous Ball, or if he had, I’d missed his name, which was possible since I’d had no idea then that I’d become the Collegium liaison to the Civic Patrol.
“Councilor Ramon D’Artisan and Madame D’Ramon.”
Once more, it didn’t take long before I began to lose track of all the names, although I did remember and recognize more than at the previous Ball, but I doubted that I had any real idea of all who were present. I kept waiting for a particular set of names. Finally, they came.
“Ryel D’Alte and Madame D’Ryel.”
“Alynat D’Ryel-Alte and Mistress Iryela D’Ryel-Alte . . .”
Alynat? That had to be Ryel’s nephew. Where was Dulyk?
I watched as the Ryels made their way into the hall and over to the three councilors.
Madame D’Ryel could indeed have been the sister or cousin of Factor Veblynt’s wife, although Madame D’Ryel was slightly more angular than Madame D’Veblynt, it seemed to me. Also, compared to her mother, Iryela seemed more petite, and her hair was more white-blond. Iryela wore a gown of shimmering black and silver—the High Holder’s colors—which did not suit her as well as the blue and silver I recalled from the last time we had met. Her scarf was of the same glittering silver, however, trimmed in black. It could have been the same scarf, for all I knew.
Alynat was more muscular than either Johanyr or Dulyk, and rounder of face, but his mien carried with it the same sense of smallness and pettiness, although he was close to my height.
As Iryela and Alynat stepped away from Councilor Caartyl, the last of the three on the High Council, her eyes crossed mine—and held them, if but for an instant—before she let them pass as if nothing had occurred. The two moved toward the smaller group of younger people on the east side of the hall, coincidentally just a few yards from
the sideboards that held various vintages, with uniformed servers already providing goblets to those who wished them.
“Shendael D’Alte and Madame D’Shendael.”
I watched as Juniae D’Shendael smiled graciously at each of the High Councilors, her short-cut mahogany hair not even moving as she nodded to each.
“The Honorable Dharios Harnen, Envoy of the Abierto Isles, and Mistress Dhenica Harnen.”
I paused, remembering that Harnen had brought his daughter to the previous Ball, and I wondered if he happened to be a widower.
From the temporary dais at the south end of the hall, the sounds of the orchestra drifted across the scattered groups of people.
“Go ahead and dance, if you like,” said Master Dichartyn. “I intend to.” His voice caught me off guard, because I’d been concentrating on those entering the great hall. “I suppose I should.”
He offered a faint smile as he moved away.
I edged along the side of the dance floor, then, surprisingly, I saw a familiar—or semifamiliar figure, not that I would have recognized her except for her height. While Alynkya D’Ramsael-Alte stood beside another couple, she was clearly alone. I also noted the totally black scarf. Her mother had been ill at the time of the last Ball, and the scarf suggested that Alynkya was in mourning, but fulfilling the public social role of her mother for her father, the High Holder and councilor from Kephria.
“Mistress Alynkya, might I have the honor of a dance?”
Her eyes widened slightly, and then she smiled, taking in the silver imager’s pin. “You might.” Her smile held a certain relief, but curiosity.
As we joined the other dancers, she said, “You know, you never told me your name, Master Rhennthyl.” While I felt my dancing had improved, so had hers. She was no longer a charmingly awkward girl, and that saddened me, because I suspected she’d had to grow up a great deal in a season.
“You seem to have discovered it well enough, mistress.”
“Alynkya, please. Father discovered it for me. I had thought you were an imager, but he did not mention that you had become a master imager.”
“Occasionally, that occurs.” I laughed lightly, guiding her around Envoy Harnen and his daughter.
“You are young to be a master, aren’t you?”
“I’m one of the younger masters.”
“You’re one of the better ones, then.”
She hadn’t made her words a question. So I asked, “Are you staying long in L’Excelsis?”
“Yes, I’m studying at the Universite. Since Father maintains the house here . . .” She let her words drift.
“A house? Or a chateau or an estate?”
“A small mansion. Very small, as they go, not far from the Plaza D’Nord. We’re Bovarian by descent.”
“He must be one of the few High Holders who can claim that.” It also suggested that High Holder Ramsael was one of those with more modest lands. Modest, comparatively, at least.
She smiled shyly. “I’m glad you asked me to dance.”
“How could I resist?”
“You’re teasing me.” Her face held the slightest trace of a pout.
“I’m not.”
“Oh?”
I would have shrugged had we not been dancing. Instead, I shook my head. “I asked you to dance at the last Ball because you looked unhappy, but you danced so well. Tonight, you looked so much more self-possessed that I couldn’t resist asking you. And you dance even more gracefully.”
She inclined her head at the compliment, trying to hide a blush.
I did not speak for a time, just enjoying the dance.
When the music stopped I touched the edge of her scarf. “You had mentioned . . .”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry. It has to have been difficult for you.”
“Coming from anyone else, that would be a pleasantry. From you, I accept it in the way it was meant.” Her eyes brightened for a moment.
“You’re the oldest, I assume?”
“The only daughter, too.”
When her father cut in on us, after another dance, he did not smile patronizingly, as he had at the previous Ball, but merely politely. I supposed that meant I had risen in his estimation.
I decided that it was time to begin what was necessary, and I eased around the edge of the dancers to where Iryela had been. She was not there. I studied the dancers, watching until she passed, in the arms of a slender man with short-cut blond hair and the bearing of a High Holder, most likely some holder’s son. The young man was clearly attentive, and at times actually seemed to lose his hauteur. After the dance ended, he returned Iryela to a position beside Alynat, who seemed indifferent to her reappearance.
After waiting for a moment, until the music resumed and Iryela had looked away from the others momentarily, I stepped forward and around Alynat, who in attitude could have been the twin of the missing Dulyk, with the same studied arrogance and supercilious smile, contemptuously ignoring the others at the Ball, except for the other young man with whom he was conversing.
“Who . . . ?” murmured Alynat, the single word conveying the sense of a sneer.
“Mistress Iryela, might I have the pleasure of a dance?” I asked, inclining my head in greeting.
Iryela turned and smiled, as if she had been expecting me all along, which I was certain she had. “Master Rhennthyl . . . that would be most pleasant.”
“Imagers . . . no breeding . . .” Alynat’s murmur was just low enough that he could have denied making it.
As well as I could, I swept Iryela out into the dancers. “You are striking this evening, wearing the family colors, but I must confess that I preferred the blue and silver.”
“You are gallant, as always, Rhennthyl. Did you say something equally charming to Mistress Alynkya?”
“I noted she was in mourning and only asked her to dance.”
“So kindhearted of you.”
“I can be, as can anyone when not threatened or concerned. I noted you enjoying the company of a young man on the previous dance. He seemed rather interested in you.”
“Oh, Kandryl. He’s very sweet and attentive. As a younger son, he has to be. He does have some redeeming qualities.”
“Such as?” I raised my eyebrows. “Being willing to accede to your wishes and desires?”
“I did say he was sweet, but enough of that.”
“I note that Dulyk did not choose to escort you.”
“It was decided that Alynat should have that experience, especially if there might be the possibility that you would be here.”
“Oh?”
“I told them that you were certainly among the suitable choices for a husband. You’re handsome and talented, and there is no way that you could ever inherit any of the holding. I intimated that such might be of interest to them, rather than . . . other possibilities.”
“You flatter me, but certainly the High Holding of Ryel is expansive enough for more than a single heir.”
“Oh, indeed, but not if Ryealte is to remain unchallenged in its scope and grandeur. More than a single heir?” Her glance was withering, yet there was something behind it.
“Or an heiress?” I suggested blandly.
“That is beyond jesting, Master Rhennthyl.”
“It has happened,” I pointed out. “I do believe that Junaie D’Shendael inherited her sire’s holding.”
“It is exceedingly rare, as I am sure you know.”
“That I do.” I laughed. “Yet if you were such an heiress, I’m certain that you would know what to do far better than either Dulyk or Alynat.”
“Let us not talk of the impossible.”
“By all means. About what possibilities would you like to converse?”
“I leave that to you, Rhennthyl. I’m but a mere woman, who can do little about possibilities, or even impossibilities.” Her eyes fixed on me intently, once again, if but for a moment.
“Tell me. What does your younger cousin do? Does he hunt? Or draw
? Or play the pianoforte? How does he amuse himself while he’s avoiding your father and Dulyk?” I kept my tone light.
“He rides, or he takes his racing trap over hill and dale.” Iryela laughed. “He’d like everyone to think that he’s reckless, but he’s rather good with both trap and mount.”
“On the main roads?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Where else could he frighten the unwary?”
“I see.”
“And Dulyk just follows your father, learning everything he can?”
“My brother is a dutiful son, Master Rhennthyl.”
“How indeed could he be otherwise?”
“How indeed.”
The music began to die away.
“Rhennthyl . . .” There was a pause. “Should you wish another dance, please do not make it the last dance. I prefer not to save anything to the end. That is so predictable.”
“I would never wish to be predictable. When one is an imager, predictability can be . . . unfortunate.”
“Unless it is unthinkable. The unthinkable is often predictable, but because it is unthinkable, it becomes unpredicted.”
“Circles within circles.” I smiled. “Will you introduce me to your sire?”
“I thought you would never ask.”
I escorted her toward her parents, although she was actually leading me.
Ryel was an older and gray-haired version of his eldest son, except that his blue eyes were glass-hard, and the thin lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes were the laugh lines etched in his face by years of cruel jests. His wife nudged him, and he half turned.
“Sir,” offered Iryela. “I thought you might wish to meet Master Imager Rhennthyl.”
“I appreciate the opportunity to see you in the flesh, sir.” I smiled pleasantly, inclining my head to that degree that was just short of insult, according to Maitre Dyana.
“And I, you, Master Rhennthyl. For a comparatively young master imager, you have a certain presence.”
I kept smiling. “You honor me, sir, but I fear that my presence pales in your light, and in view of your reputation.”
“Do you hear that, Irenya?” Ryel inclined his head to his wife. “Master Rhennthyl would tie me up in my own reputation. What a terrible thing to do.” His eyes took me in for a moment, and there was the slightest of nods. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Master Rhennthyl. Oh, and by the way, my condolences on your brother’s accident, and my best wishes for his speedy recovery.”
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