Kate Novak - Masquerades

He let the myriad colors slide, along his consciousness. He stopped, focusing on a very dark purple to his right. He peeked out one eye. Kimbel, the former assassin, stood on a staircase, watching the guests from behind the guards.

Dragonbait closedfliis eye again. In a moment, he could sense a deep red hatred speckled with green jealousy. The paladin confirmed his guess. Haztor Urdo, hating Alias, jealous of Victor's pleasure in her company.

With his eyes squeezed tightly shut, the paladin let the colors wash over him longer, until he could sense their pattern as they moved about the blue that he knew must be Alias, as they stepped back from her, circled around her, pulled her close.

Blackness like a shroud covered the blue flame of Alias's spirit, blackness so dark, it devoured the light from her, giving up none of it. Blackness was the lust for power, the voracious appetite for control over all others, the desire that swallowed its tail and devoured the being's own universe.

Dragonbait whirled and glared at the man holding Alias in his arms. Once again, where Victor stood, the paladin saw the blue flame so like Alias's. Now he concentrated on what lay beneath the blue. As if Victor's soul were a canvas, he stared at it for the pentimento that lay beneath the illusion of virtue painted on the surface.

Then he could see it-the image that lay beneath what Victor had seemed. There were pits of blackness filled with black serpents, all poised to devour whatever came their way. As Victor reached a hand out to the swordswoman, Dragonbait saw a serpent wind about the flame of Alias's spirit, prepared to crush the life from it before making it a meal. Despite himself, Dragonbait let out a mewling cry and nearly toppled forward.

It was a moment before he could gather his shen sight back into whatever spot it rested when not in use. He saw a flame of blue, tinged with a little green jealousy just before his vision cleared. Thistle stood before him, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. "Are you all right?" she asked slowly, in a manner that presumed that because he did not speak her tongue, he could not hear or easily understand it.

The paladin nodded, tapping his chest to indicate he'd only swallowed something the wrong way.

As Thistle turned to get a glass of water for the saurial, Dragonbait watched Victor with new insight. He remembered how Mist had claimed the noble was a pawn to his ambition and desires. The wyrm always did have a talent for understatement, the paladin thought with a wry sense of amusement.

The dance ended, and Alias strode from the dance floor, hand in hand with Victor. Dragonbait excused himself from Thistle and moved toward the couple.

"I must speak with you," the paladin said to Alias in saurial, "alone."

"Can't it wait?" Alias asked, eager to reach the refreshment table and ease her parched throat.

The paladin shook his head to indicate it could not. With a sigh, the swordswoman excused herself from Lord Victor's company. She followed the saurial to a less-crowded section of the room.

"What is it?" Alias asked. She removed her mask and spoke in Saurial so that she would not be overheard. "Night Masks?"

"No, it is Victor," Dragonbait replied. "Olive is right. We cannot trust him."

"Would you forget about Olive? She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"It is not just Olive. I have seen it with my shen sight. He is corrupted. He is an evil man." "Four days ago your shen sight saw he was virtuous," Alias argued heatedly.

"I was deceived somehow. Some illusion covered the truth."

"How do you know you aren't being deceived now?" Alias demanded. "Olive convinced me that I was wrong."

"I think Olive talked you into seeing something that isn't there," Alias snapped. She burst into a tirade, which consisted of several growls and clicks audible to the other party goers around them, and a few of them glanced nervously in her direction. Tm tired of hearing about your shen sight, of the way you judge everyone with it. There's more to people than your paladin visions. What they say and what they do is what really matters. That's how I know Victor is good," she declared. She spun around and bolted off.

While the swordswoman and the paladin argued, Kim-bel slipped up behind Lord Victor. "Is everything in place?" the merchant asked.

"Yes, but there may be a problem," the servant whispered. "The lizard was studying you and seemed to have an attack of some kind. I suspect he has seen past the illusion projected by your amulet of misdirection."

"Bloody hell," Victor muttered. "He's talking with Alias now."

"I suggest you continue with the plan," Kimbel said. "If there is a problem, you can deal with her once you are alone. I can deal with the lizard."

"Remove him, but do not kill him yet," Victor ordered. "She might be able to sense that somehow. Make it appear innocent."

"As if he left town in a fit of paladin snobbery," Kimbel suggested. "Yes. Nice touch," Victor agreed. "Go."

The former assassin slipped away. Victor looked in Alias and Dragonbait's direction. Alias appeared to be arguing with the paladin, which was certainly a good sign. The merchant lord spotted Thistle Thalavar standing beside her imposing grandmother. The girl was as good a pawn as any, Lord Victor thought. He hurried over to ask her to dance.

Alias returned to the spot where she'd left Victor, only to discover he'd escorted Thistle Thalavar out to the dance floor. She slipped her mask back on, grateful for the way it hid her fury. She watched as Thistle seemed to hang on Victor's every word. The merchant lord may think of her as a i child, but it was obvious the young girl thought of him as a hero. Alias felt miserable standing alone in the room full of people, but she could hardly blame Victor for abandoning her. After all, he was supposed to mix with the guests. The swordswoman was just toying with the idea of finding herself another dance partner when Victor and Thistle parted company. Thistle moved in Dragonbait's direction and Victor came toward Alias.

The young noblewoman soon cornered her quarry and dragged the saurial onto the dance floor for a quadrille.

"I thought your friend could use a little coaxing onto the dance floor," the nobleman explained as he rejoined the swordswoman. "He looks far too dour for a celebration. Thistle said she'd see what she could- Alias, what's wrong?" ¦ "Nothing," Alias retorted hurriedly. "What makes you think something's wrong?"

"Well, you're shaking, for one thing," Victor replied as he placed his warm hands on her shoulders. "And, well, with your complexion, you do tend to color when you're angry. Even your shoulders are red. Perhaps we should talk in private. Come upstairs with me."

The white-caped guards on the stairs parted for the son of Luer Dhostar and his guest. Halfway up the stairs, Alias shot a glance down at the dance floor. Dragonbait was acquitting himself admirably, keeping up with Thistle's steps, but the swordswoman could tell his heart was not in the motions.

Victor hesitated before opening the door to the conference suite. "I need to explain something. I was planning on asking you up here to-to talk. I realize maybe this is a bad time for it, so please don't misunderstand."

He swung open the door, and Alias felt her heart melting despite her anger. The drab conference room had been transformed into a romantic faerie realm. The large table was glittering from lit tapers of perfumed wax. Bolts of silk fabric and oversized pillows covered the floor between the table and the hearth, where a fire blazed and crackled. A bottle of Evermead, two glasses, and a platter of fruits and cheeses sat on a tray beside the hearth.

"We can just sit at the table, if it will make you more comfortable," Victor said.

Alias stepped into the room, and Victor followed, pushing the door closed behind them. Feeling a little foolish, she walked past the table and sat down on one of the pillows. She inspected the bottle of Evermead. It was more than a hundred years old.