I managed not even to look startled. “I appreciate your words, sir, and we all wish him an uneventful and healthful recovery. Thank you.” I inclined my head just enough. “I will not intrude further.”
He smiled, and I smiled, and I turned as he did, so that he could not obviously dismiss me.
After I left Iryela and her sire, I caught sight of Madame D’Shendael, near one of the sideboards. She had requested a dance, and her husband was talking to another High Holder, though he did stand beside her.
I moved toward her, then inclined my head. “Madame, might I have the honor of a dance?”
Her eyes took in my black formal dress and the silver imager’s pin. “You might, Master Rhennthyl.”
I took her hand, and we began to dance. Her husband scarcely seemed to notice that she was gone.
“Has your sister yet read On Art and Society, Master Rhennthyl?”
“She recently got her own copy, but I’ve also read most of it. There is a copy in the Collegium Library.”
“Yes, there would be, buried in among all the other treatises on the organization of society. And how does a master imager who must work with the Civic Patrol as a common patroller reconcile such an attempt at lofty prose to the mundanity of each day?”
“What we do, I believe, madame, is not all that we are, nor all that we could be. Reading opens one’s eyes to the possibilities.”
“Ah, yes, to the cruelty of possibilities seldom realized. Did you know that Vhillar had three small children?”
“No, madame, but I do know that the more than ten junior imagers whose deaths he arranged might well have had small children, had they lived long enough to reach that point in life that Vhillar had already attained. I know that Emanus might have enjoyed a few more years of life.”
“Would you call his life enjoyable, truly, Master Rhennthyl?”
“I could not speak to that, madame, but he did tell me that he had no regrets about what he had done. It was clear that he referred to giving up his position in the guild.”
“Just that?” Her voice was casual.
“I do not know how he managed to arrange matters, but he was happy to do what was necessary to protect his daughter and to make her secure. Of that I am certain.” That was as close as I dared to allude to the fact that she was his daughter.
“You are rather young to presume that, are you not?”
“I presume nothing, madame. I only listened.”
“He would not have said that.”
“I listened to the words he did not say and combined them with what I could see about his artistry and how he had acted.”
“You will be disappointed in life, Master Rhennthyl. For one so young, you see well beyond what appears on the surface. Few do.”
“I suspect that, madame, and that may be why I am accompanying common patrollers.”
“Emanus . . . he said that, even for a portraiturist, once the painting was begun, hesitation was only an invitation to failure. Imaging, I would think, is similar to portraiture, especially in dealing with the Council or High Holders. You are both portraiturist and imager, are you not?”
“Yes, madame.”
“How would you view his observation?”
“As accurate in every particular. But when anyone, even a High Holder, thinks a portrait has been begun is not always when the portraiturist has truly begun or taken the steps to capture the image.”
“You have an interesting way of interpreting matters, Master Rhennthyl. I do hope that I will see you at the Winter Ball. Your company is far more interesting than, say, that of High Holder Ryel. I saw that you persuaded his daughter to present you.”
“It was convenient, and I thought it the proper thing to do.”
She smiled, faintly and sadly. “I fear that you will soon be beyond help, Master Rhennthyl, either following those other younger imagers or having become too terrible to imagine.” After the slightest of pauses, she added, “I do believe that my husband has at last noticed my absence. If you would not mind . . .”
“I would be delighted.” We danced to the edge of the floor, and I escorted her back to Shendael. Then I inclined my head, in far greater respect than I had given Ryel. “My thanks, madame.”
She nodded in return. With the nod was another smile, a knowing one that held a hint of sadness.
I eased along the edge of the dance floor for a time, but then saw another young lady, obviously alone, but attired in a shimmering muted violet that matched her eyes.
“Might I have this dance, mistress?”
She nodded politely, but did not speak, not until near the end of that dance when another young man—a Holder heir, I suspected—cut in. Then she smiled and said, “Thank you.”
I circled the dancers, studying them as I passed, as well as those at the side of the hall who chose not to dance.
As the last bell of ninth glass echoed, then faded, High Councilor Suyrien stepped toward the table set on the middle of the east side of the dance floor. A drumroll rose from the dais holding the orchestra, followed by a quick trumpet call. Three bottles, corked and sealed, awaited the High Councilor. He pointed to the one on the left, and the server removed the foil and cork from one of the bottles, then set a goblet down and poured the sparkling white wine into it.
I watched the goblet, but there was no trembling, and no sign of any imaging. I could see Master Dichartyn watching as well.
Suyrien D’Alte picked up the goblet, raised it, and declared, “For Solidar, for the Council, and in thanks for a pleasant and productive autumn!”
Then he lowered the goblet and put it to his lips.
Thankfully, unlike the last Ball, this time nothing happened.
“For Solidar, for the Council, and thanks for a pleasant and productive autumn!” echoed from the bystanders, less than enthusiastically.
After smiling politely for several moments, Councilor Suyrien set down the goblet, left the toasting table, and rejoined several other High Holders to the side of the table.
Master Dichartyn eased through the crowd toward me.
I waited, smiling.
“Much less eventful than the last Ball,” he observed. “I saw that you asked Madame D’Shendael to dance.”
“As was requested, sir.”
“And?”
“She hinted that my options were rather limited. It was kind of her. She also expressed indirect appreciation for my concerns about her family.”
“That was all?”
“That was all.” It was far more notice than I had received from other High Holders, except, of course, Iryela.
“Interesting.” He smiled and slipped away.
I didn’t feel like dancing, and I went to one of the sideboards, where I took a goblet of Grisio. Since I was not an expert on vintages, I did take the precaution of using a testing strip and imaging a drop of the wine onto it. The strip showed no poison.
A quint passed as I sipped the Grisio, slowly, and watched the dancers, and those moving to and from the sideboards. Then it was time to claim my second dance with Iryela.
She saw me coming and eased away from Alynat—and her parents—meeting me on the edge of the dance floor.
“Might I?” I asked, inclining my head politely.
“You might, especially since you are so kind as to heed my request.” She eased into my arms.
As good a dancer as she was, she didn’t compare to Seliora, and I wished that I could have been dancing with Seliora, necessary as the dance with Iryela was.
“Alynat seems less than thrilled.”
“We are polite to each other, as cousins must be.”
“It might be that he was required to attend,” I suggested. “Or perhaps he would rather be racing his trap through the night.”
“Never the night, Rhennthyl. Who would see him? These days, he prefers showing such speed on the road from the estate to the Plaza D’Nord—generally in midweek around midday.”
“Will he attempt such with a sl
ed after the turn of winter, or will he do that at Ryealte?”
“He will have to give that up for the winter. The ice in the north is far too hard on the horses. Even Alynat can occasionally be made to understand that there are some challenges that are less than useful or worthwhile.”
“That’s a lesson Johanyr never learned,” I said dryly.
“There are always those who do not know which challenges to take and which to avoid.”
Her casual dismissal of her elder brother, cruel bastard that he was, still bothered me, and suggested . . . something. “And you?”
“I’m a woman, Rhennthyl. Women do not have such choices. We must live by the results of the choices of others.”
“If you did, I would suspect you would choose wisely.”
“You are too kind.” Her words were dry.
“Merely truthful as I see it.” I smiled politely. “Will you return to the main holding for the Year-Turn?”
“Only a few days before the end of Finitas. Ryealte is rather boring in a grand fashion. We all—excepting Mother—prefer L’Excelsis.” She arched a single eyebrow. “Where else could one dance in perfect safety with a notorious imager?”
“Notorious? I fear that you vastly overesteem me, mistress.”
“Iryela, please. How could I possibly do that, Rhennthyl, when I am but viewing you as my sire does?”
“And your brother?”
“He has said nothing.”
“I suppose your sire will do much entertaining before the Year-Turn.”
She laughed archly. “Well before that. Two weeks from now is the Foliage Festival, and of course there is a full week of dinners at the end of the month before we leave for Ryealte, one after another . . . every night. And once we return to L’Excelsis, the winter season begins. I shall see you at the Winter Ball, I trust.”
“We shall see, shall we not?”
“So we shall.”
“What is the Foliage Festival?”
“That is what my sire terms it. He has his . . . whims. He and Dulyk and those he invites will climb the tower and see whose tree in the garden has the most leaves remaining. He assigns the trees by lot before the guests arrive. The winner sits to his right at dinner.”
“Then he must be inviting lesser High Holders, not that all are not such.”
Iryela gave a trace of a nod, so slight I would not have seen it had I not been watching.
“And you, will you have a tree?”
“My dear Rhennthyl.” She smothered a laugh behind a bright smile.
I had thought I knew the answer, but I wanted to make sure. “Your gardens must have hardy trees, or is he choosing evergreens?”
“There are always a few leaves, well past Year-Turn. His guests are always pleased to be honored to share ancient vintages with him on the tower. Except for that day, the tower is for family alone.”
“You are allowed on the tower?”
“Not when other High Holders are present, but at other times. The view to the west is rather spectacular, especially at sunset, and just before, although one can see nothing in the gardens because the sky is so bright.”
“Often the light of the rising and setting sun obscures matters, although the poets claim both clarify.”
“What do the artists think?”
“Each artist has his own vision. Which is true? Who knows?” At that point, I could see Alynat sliding between the dancers toward us.
“Your cousin approaches, and I thank you for the dance, Iryela.” I inclined my head.
“And I you. I look forward to seeing you at the Winter Ball. I trust I will not see you before then.”
“It’s rather unlikely.” I stepped back and nodded to Alynat. “The lady is yours for the dance.”
He actually froze for a second, then took Iryela’s hand and swung her back into the flow of dancers.
I smiled as I eased my way back toward the sideboard where I saw Master Dichartyn standing.
“Good evening, sir. You will note that I have followed every formality.”
“You have, and you could not have made Ryel more determined to destroy you had you planned it,” offered Master Dichartyn.
“No,” I replied. “He had already determined that.” His comment about Rousel had made that clear, because he could not have known had he not been involved. “Nothing I did Tonight would change that. Groveling would only have gained contempt.”
“Are you now a High Holder?” The gentleness of his voice only intensified the sarcasm.
“No, sir. I am an imager. I will always be one.”
Surprisingly, he only nodded. “The duty coaches will be outside waiting at a quint past midnight. We should observe as the guests leave.”
I followed him toward the archway that opened onto the open area at the top of the grand staircase. I could see that as many as a third of the guests had already slipped away.
Samedi would have been a good morning to sleep in, what with the chill and the wind gusts that splattered icy rain against my windows, but I didn’t. By the time I’d finished breakfast and was on my way to the studio for Master Rholyn’s sitting, the clouds had blown over, leaving a chill and pale sky, and the wind had gotten even stronger and colder. I was grateful for being able to sit at the masters’ table, because I’d been alone, with no one to ask me about the Ball.
I’d glanced through Veritum, after seeing headlines that had proclaimed a Jariolan victory. The Jariolans had taken advantage of a severe early winter storm to launch a counterattack that resulted in the destruction of more than forty Ferran landcruisers and more than four thousand Ferran casualties. Unless I missed my guess, over the winter those losses would become greater because the Ferran machinery wasn’t up to the Cloiseran winters. I put aside the new-sheet after I entered the studio and loaded and stoked the stove, then set to work.
Master Rholyn arrived almost a quint before eighth glass, but I was ready for him, since I’d been working on some touches to his waistcoat.
“Good morning, Rhenn. Yesterday’s hearing was rather interesting.”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. I spent most of my time in the witness chamber. They let me hear the verdict, and that was all, except for when I was testifying.”
“I’m not sure Dichartyn was all that enthused about having a public hearing with a renegade imager. He does prefer a quieter resolution of such matters.” Rholyn moved to the crate and took his position. “I thought that the total intransigence of the taudischef provided an important illustration, especially to those in the Collegium who don’t have to deal with people like that. Too many imagers think that the world outside Imagisle is a reasonable place, and that there’s always a solution that doesn’t hurt too many people. Most people aren’t reasonable, and every solution hurts someone.”
“Many aren’t reasonable, I’ve discovered.” I wasn’t certain I thought that of most people, but it seemed to be more true of those with power.
“The fellow had such imaging ability. Such a waste. Yet . . . so few of the ones from the taudis actually are able to become successful imagers. You saw that with the one . . . Diazt, was that his name?”
“Diazt came out of the hellhole, and that’s one of the worst, I understand. Still, I’m hopeful for young Shault.”
“Ah . . . yes. The dark-haired one. He works hard, Ghaend says. But then, he’s younger than those few we usually get from the taudis.” Rholyn tilted his head. “How did we come by him so young? You were the receiving master for him, weren’t you?”
“I was. I had the duty. His uncle brought him in.”
“For the golds, I imagine?”
“He didn’t turn them down, but I had the feeling that the man was actually trying to do what was best for the boy. His mother has visited, and I’m fairly sure that Shault is giving much of his earnings to her.”
“Dichartyn says that he looks up to you.”
“I don’t know why, but I’ve tried to be supportive.”
“You set
tle him down, Ghaend said. After the hearing yesterday morning, he was very upset, but he was calm that afternoon. Ghaend asked him, and young Shault would only say that you explained things to him.”
“I tried. I wasn’t sure I was successful, but I’m glad to hear that he settled down.” I looked at him closely. “If you’d turn your head just a touch away from me . . . there. That’s good.”
After that, I just painted, and Rholyn didn’t say much more, or ask any questions. As he gathered his cloak and prepared to leave, he did ask, “How many more sittings, do you think?”
“Not more than two. If things go well next week, it could be the last.”
“Good. No offense, but . . .”
“Yes, sir. I know. It takes time.”
He smiled politely, nodded, and departed.
I continued to work on his portrait until close to noon, when I hurried over to the dining hall. Maitres Dyana, Chassendri, and Ferlyn were all there, beckoning to me.
“How was the Ball?” asked Ferlyn, even before I slipped into the seat beside Maitre Dyana. “I saw you leaving the Collegium last night. Rather splendid, you looked.”
I smiled and glanced at Maitre Dyana, who was wearing, as usual, a brilliant scarf, this one of purple, edged in pink. “The red or the white?”
“White. It is midday.” A faint smile lingered on her lips.
I poured us each a half goblet from the carafe, then let her hand the carafe to Chassendri. “Do you think we’ll see an early snow?”
Ferlyn snorted. “Now you sound like Maitre Poincaryt. That’s what he does when he doesn’t want to answer a question.”
“Does he?” I kept my voice innocent.
Ferlyn shook his head, then said to Chassendri in a lower voice, “All of the security types are the same. They just tell you what they want you to know.”
He was right, but I’d come to see why. I grinned. “It was a quiet evening as such events go. There were scores of people dressed far more impressively than I was. There were no accidents and no explosions, and only a few young ladies needing dance partners when they’d been inadvertently left standing alone.”
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