If only Celeste was here. How ravishing she would look! If she was on my arm, I wouldn’t care how long the ball lasted. Doing his best to shelve his sadness, he squared his shoulders, then reentered the busy hallway.
The crushing flow of people and warriors had become even stronger, but at least this time nearly everyone was going in the same direction. The ball would start soon, and the Great Hall would be packed with revelers. With his mask on, fewer people recognized him. But he would still be late. As he wended his way through the crowd, his thoughts turned to earlier that day.
When today’s second Conclave meeting had adjourned, he had stayed behind for a time, thinking. Although the members had been able to talk freely, no one had been able to offer an explanation about Xanthus. Even Wigg, Faegan, and Jessamay were at a loss. Glad to finally be alone, Tristan had gazed into the fireplace and come to some conclusions of his own.
The deaths in Charningham had been horrific and unprovoked. Clearly, Xanthus needed to be stopped and his motives brought to light. But how did one do that when the quarry was a ghost, able to vanish at will? Then there was the disturbing matter of the freshly cut branch and the blank scroll. Their meanings clear, the two symbols sat quietly atop the meeting room table.
He soon found his mind returning to that awful day in Parthalon, when he had killed Kluge and become the lord of the Minions. Kluge had been the strongest opponent he had ever met. Tristan had barely escaped with his life.
But where Kluge’s technique had been that of a raging beast, Xanthus’ would not be. When his axe was in his hands, Xanthus would become the consummate warrior-a veritable magician of the combative arts. Kluge had reveled in his kills. But Xanthus’ attainment ofK’Shari would keep his heart and mind placid, unfeeling, and perfect in his deadliness. In the end, Xanthus would be far more dangerous.
Tristan turned to see his dreggan and throwing knives hanging over his chair back. The weapons gleamed beautifully in the firelight. Then he looked into the fire again.
I cannot beat this creature, this Darkling, he realized. If he comes for me and I resist him, I will die.
Even so, one thing had become abundantly clear. Xanthus was of the Vagaries. The dark side of the craft was again on the march in Eutracia, and it had to be stopped.
The sound of music returned Tristan’s mind to the present as he finally neared the Great Hall. Knowing better than to try to go through the giant doors and fight his way across the room, he opened a nearby alcove door and quickly closed it behind him.
He was soon standing in a well-lit antechamber just off the hall’s dais. With luck, he might be able to slip into his chair without too many guests noticing that he was late. Walking across the chamber, he opened the door and stepped onto the dais.
Other than on the day of his ill-fated coronation, Tristan had never seen the Great Hall decorated so beautifully. The room was covered by a domed ceiling of stained glass through which light cascaded in a dizzying array of colors. The floor was a vast sea of black-and-white checkerboard marble squares. Giant variegated columns, so thick around that it would take ten men holding hands to surround just one, flanked the entire length of two opposing walls from ceiling to floor. Thick garlands of purple ginger lily were wound around each one, and strung from one to the next. Scores of golden chandeliers and standing candelabras provided light from their glowing flames. Several large indoor fountains playfully shot water streams into the air. The water tumbled back into surrounding pools holding fish of every color and description. A musicians’ pit near one end of the dais held twenty men and women. The musicians were busily playing melodies for the whirling dancers.
While hundreds of costumed revelers wheeled to the music, liveried waiters and waitresses mingled politely on the sidelines, offering up silver trays laden with food and drink. Against the room’s walls sat many buffet tables that were loaded with yet more delicacies.
Shaking his head, Tristan snorted. Each table had to be twenty meters long. The moment a platter became empty, palace cooks or gnome wives quickly bustled in, carrying ever-more-sumptuous treats.
Meant only for the Conclave members, ten high-backed chairs sat atop the dais. A line of citizens and warriors eager to greet the Conclave stretched from the room’s far reaches, all the way forward along one wall, then up and across the dais. As the people and the warriors approached, another liveried servant accepted their engraved invitations, then loudly announced their names. As he took in the line’s length, Tristan groaned. Then he smiled behind his mask as he heard the servant struggle, trying to correctly pronounce one of the Minion warriors’ more exotic names.
Four Conclave members’ chairs were conspicuously empty-those that had once belonged to Geldon and Celeste, plus Tyranny’s and his own. Tyranny must also be late, he assumed. Although Geldon and Celeste could not be present, Tristan had insisted that their chairs be included as a sign of their sacrifices to the Vigors. He walked across the dais, to sit down between Wigg and Shailiha.
Like Tristan, it seemed that Wigg had granted no concession to the masquerade besides his highly ornate mask. How much teasing had the First Wizard been forced to endure from Abbey before finally donning it? Tristan wondered. For a moment he considered whether it was real or conjured, then decided that it didn’t matter. It was beautifully made of crinkled gold foil, with black, sweeping eyebrows that gave it a rather disparaging expression. How appropriate, Tristan thought with a smile.
Wigg looked at him and said nothing. He didn’t have to-Tristan knew full well that the expression on the wizard’s face and mask would match perfectly.
Shailiha was stunning. She was dressed in a dark blue gown, and her long blond hair graced either shoulder. Her matching blue shoes were decorated with indigo sapphires. Her gold medallion exactly matching his hung brightly around her neck. One edge of her mask was attached to a handle. The full mask was bloodred, adorned with white feathers where the eyebrows would normally be. The eye holes slanted up at the far corners, giving it a seductive quality. Tristan smiled at her from behind his mask; she smiled back.
“You’re late!” she whispered. “In the name of the Afterlife, can’t you ever be on time? Wigg must be furious!”
“Naturally,” Tristan answered back. “That’s his job.”
He gladly drank in his twin sister’s beauty once more. She would have no lack of suitors tonight, and for that he was glad. She had been lonely since Frederick’s death, and enough time had gone by. Tristan knew that no one would deny her the right to be happy again.
Holding the mask before her face, Shailiha smiled as a man approached from the receiving line. As the man lowered his mask, the princess immediately remembered the handsome fellow as Count Tomasso, from the province of Ephyra.
When the count bowed, his blue eyes flashed in the candlelight. As Shailiha extended her hand, he lightly brushed his lips across the back of her satin elbow glove.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” he said smoothly. Then he turned to Tristan. “My liege,” he said.
“Count Tomasso,” Tristan acknowledged simply. The count again focused his eyes on Shailiha.
“I trust your dance card is not yet filled?” he asked. “It would be such a shame to come so far, only to be denied.”
Shailiha knew she could afford a revealing smile, as long as it was safely hidden behind her mask. Reaching to the floor, she retrieved her dance card and a quill. She handed them to the count.
“I believe there might be one or two left,” she answered, trying her best to sound nonchalant. “You’ll have to see for yourself.”
The count glanced at the card. “One only,” he answered happily. “The last one, as it happens. I will be looking forward to it.” After writing his name on the card, he handed it back to the princess.
“Until then,” he said.
Working his way down the receiving line, he stopped to politely recognize the other Conclave members. Snorting out another soft laugh, Tristan looked over at his s
ister.
“You’ll have to see for yourself?”he chided her. “With such a wonderful come-hither attitude as that, I’m surprised there’s a man in the entire place who wants to dance with you!”
Shailiha smiled from behind her mask, then promptly shoved one elbow into the prince’s ribs. He winced.
“I must be doing something right,” she teased right back. “My dance card is full, but yours is empty. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
“It tells me that things are just as I want them,” he answered. There had come a welcome lull in the receiving line. Taking another sip of wine, he cast his dark eyes back toward the spectacular scene.
“By the way,” he asked, “where’s Tyranny? It’s not like her to be late.”
Shailiha pointed toward the twirling dancers. “She’s down there, somewhere,” she answered, “and whirling madly, no doubt. It seems she has been popular tonight. I didn’t even know she could dance.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he asked softly. “I didn’t know she could, either.”
Curious, Tristan searched for her. But amid the disguised revelers, finding her was impossible, so he stopped trying. Then he noticed several fliers of the fields-the giant, endowed Eutracian butterflies-soaring high above the crowd. He was delighted to see them.
“Wigg let you bring the fliers here?” he asked Shailiha. “That surprises me.”
Lowering her mask, she gave her brother a conspiratorial wink. “I believed they would make a nice addition to the ball,” she said. “So I brokered a deal with him.”
Tristan scowled. “Just how did you manage that?” he asked. “Wigg isn’t one to make deals.”
“Abbey was hounding him mercilessly about wearing a full costume,” she answered. “I suggested that in return for allowing the fliers to attend, he could wear only his usual gray robe, plus a mask. It worked.”
Smiling, Tristan looked back up at the bevy of huge colorful butterflies. Each one’s body as long as a man’s forearm, they swooped and darted effortlessly. Knowing that Shailiha could silently communicate with them, he looked over at her.
“Call Caprice down,” he said. “It has been some time since I’ve seen her.”
Closing her eyes, Shailiha used her only active Forestallment to call down her personal flier. At once a violet-and-yellow one left the others to soar toward the Conclave. When Tristan realized that she was coming toward him, he raised a forearm. Caprice landed on his arm, then gently folded her diaphanous wings.
Shailiha closed her eyes again, then smiled. “She says that she is happy to see you,” his sister told him.
Still amazed by his sister’s gift, Tristan smiled. “As am I to see her,” he said.
Gently shaking his arm, he cast Caprice back into the air. She soared to rejoin her kind. Just then Wigg leaned toward him.
“You’re late!” he whispered. “And you’re out of costume, to boot!”
Sighing, Tristan took another sip of wine. Stretching his long legs, he casually crossed one boot over the other.
“So I’ve already been told,” he answered. “Anyway, I’m here now. And by the way, I don’t think much of your costume, either.” He gave Wigg a short, knowing smile. “Abbey can’t be very happy with you,” he added.
“That doesn’t matter!” the wizard pressed. “You could learn a great deal about royal decorum from your sister!”
Tristan could tell that Wigg was about to launch into a full-blown lecture when the music suddenly stopped. Wondering why, everyone looked to the orchestra pit.
The leader had come to the center of the dance floor. Wondering what was going on, the slowing dancers formed a circle around him. Once he had everyone’s attention, the orchestra leader cleared his voice.
“As everyone knows, it is an old Eutracian custom that one dance shall be in the form of an auction, the proceeds going to the Tammerland orphanage,” he announced. “But tonight we are going to do something a bit different. Rather than the gentlemen bidding on the ladies as partners, things will be reversed. Tonight the ladies will be bidding for the men!”
Spontaneous laughter and applause erupted. It was clear that the crowd was delighted. But Tristan’s reaction was another matter. He glared at his sister.
“This is your doing, isn’t it?” he asked sternly.
Trying to stifle her glee, Shailiha bit her lower lip. “I’ll never tell,” she whispered from behind her mask. Everyone’s eyes soon returned to the orchestra leader.
“So who among you lovely ladies would like to get things started?” he shouted. “Now then, don’t be shy! It’s all for a good cause, you know!”
“Ten kisa for the First Wizard!” one woman hollered. “I’ve always wanted to dance with a wizard! I hear they can be very light on their feet!”
As the crowd erupted into laughter, Tristan heard Wigg groan. The prince smiled evilly.
“Fifteen for Faegan!” another woman shouted. “With or without his chair!”
The crowd laughed good-naturedly. Curious, Tristan leaned forward to glance down the line of Conclave members. Unlike Wigg, the mischievous Faegan had lowered his mask and was grinning from ear to ear.
“Seventeen for Traax!” another called out. More congratulatory applause followed.
Urgently elbowing her husband out of the way, an especially rotund woman stepped forward. She lowered her mask to show a hooked nose and far too much rouge adorning her cheeks. With a coy look on her face, she stared straight at the prince. Fearing the worst, Tristan swallowed hard.
“Twenty for the prince!” the woman shouted. The crowd cheered.
Lowering her mask a bit, Shailiha leaned toward her brother. The catty expression on her face was plain to see.
“I’d be careful if I were you,” she whispered. “She must mean business-she just paid twenty kisa for you. Watch your feet. One wrong step and they might be crushed beyond recognition.”
Tristan scowled. “Twenty kisa, eh?” he mused. “I’d gladly pay one hundred not to have to go down there!”
Then another woman came forward. She was tall, and her red dress was stunning. Her handheld mask was white, with pink overtones. Wondering who she might be, Tristan leaned forward a bit. The unidentified woman looked over at the orchestra leader.
“One thousand kisa for the prince!” she shouted. “And don’t worry-I’m good for it!”
A hush came over the crowd as they all wondered who the rich mystery woman might be. Then they started applauding. Taking another step forward, the winning bidder lowered her mask. When Tristan saw her face, his eyes went wide. He sat back in his chair.
It was Tyranny.
Tristan looked over at his sister. “This is your doing again, isn’t it?” he asked.
To his surprise, Shailiha seemed as shocked as he. She shook her head.
“I knew she wanted to dance with you tonight,” she said, “but not this badly.” She smiled again. “Your duty is clear. One thousand kisa will go far for the orphanage. Besides, she’s right about one thing,” she added softly.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “What is that?” he asked.
“She can afford it,” the princess answered with a smile.
As the bidding for other men continued, Tyranny walked to the dais. Smiling, she curtsied, then reached one gloved hand out toward Tristan.
“Shall we?” she asked.
For several moments Tristan simply stared at her. He had never seen Tyranny so lovely. Even though he suspected that her dress belonged to Shailiha, the privateer seemed to be a totally different woman. The only reminders of her piratical nature were her familiar gold hoop earrings. Relieved to have been rescued from the unappealing matron, he smiled.
“By all means,” he said. He took her hand and placed his other one behind his back as he escorted her to the center of the floor.
Bowing respectfully, the crowd quickly gave way for the stunning couple. As Tristan took Tyranny in his arms she beamed back at him. Leaning in,
he placed his mouth near her ear.
“I certainly hope this will be worth one thousand kisa,” he whispered.
A gentler look suddenly overcame Tyranny’s face. “Of that I have no doubt, my liege,” she answered softly.
With the auction concluded, the conductor was again standing before the musicians. Tristan looked his way.
“A waltz, if you please,” the prince suggested. With a nod from the conductor, the musicians started playing.
Even though he cared little for dancing, Tristan had always been good at it. As he led Tyranny around the floor, he was surprised to find her his equal, if not better. She followed every command effortlessly, gracefully. According to custom, the other dancers let the dashing couple command the entire floor. After two graceful turns, Tristan gave the signal for the others to join in. Soon the floor was alive with elegant dancers, and the lovely waltz was carrying them all away.
Her mask in one hand behind Tristan’s shoulder, Tyranny looked the prince in the eyes. Tristan smiled.
“I had no idea you were such a wonderful dancer,” he said. Turning with the music, he led them toward a spot that would yield a bit more room. Tyranny followed his every motion like they were one.
“Where did you learn?” he asked.
“From my parents,” she answered. “They were marvelous dancers. I wish you could have seen them together!” Showing her lovely neck, she threw her head back and laughed. “I might be mostly seagoing wildcat, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely ignorant of social graces,” she said coyly.
Sending her whirling, Tristan brought her to her toes, then wheeled her around again. As he did, he realized that for the first time in a long while he was starting to enjoy himself.
“By the way, is Scars here?” he asked. Tristan suspected that even tonight her giant first mate would be near his captain.
“Yes,” she answered, “he’s here somewhere.” Then her infectious laugh came again. “But you know, although I’ve known him forever, I can’t tell you whether he can dance. I love him like a brother-you know that. Even so, I don’t imagine that Scars’ dancing would be a pretty picture, do you? I pity the poor girl he might hold too tightly! And may the Afterlife forbid him stepping on her feet!”
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