L. E.Modesitt - Imager’s Intrigue

That explained some matters. “Veblynt’s wife bears a resemblance to Iryela D’Ryel.”

“They’re second cousins, once removed. She married Veblynt anyway, and she did have a dowry that funded his first mill. He’s far more of a success than his father was or ever could have been. He’s very thorough. When he began, he was known to have made investments with borrowed funds, based on his knowledge of various High Holder families. To his credit, he always paid them back, usually early and with some extra, as if to compensate for the means of obtaining them. Thankfully, once he was established, that practice vanished, although I am told that his agents continue to collect information.” The slightest sniff that followed Fhernon’s words suggested a definite lack of approval of Veblynt and his methodology.

“Do you know whether he had any dealings with Glendyl?”

Fhernon offered a sardonic smile. “Outside of the legal actions, you mean?”

“Those must have been before my time.”

“They took place more than ten years ago. Glendyl claimed Veblynt had copied certain processes from his engines, involving some sort of drive mechanism, and sought damages. Veblynt proved that the mechanisms had been in use for centuries in other equipment, if more crudely applied. He sought expenses for defending himself. The courts granted him a third of what he claimed. Neither was happy. So far as I know, they’ve never spoken since. That’s close to the total I know about Veblynt.”

“I do appreciate your taking the time.” I smiled. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Only that it is far better to have Veblynt in your debt than the other way around. I doubt, given events, that he would ever regard you as indebted to him. For that, you are fortunate.”

As we walked back to the receiving room, I could see why, given Fhernon’s explanation, Veblynt had been seeking information on Glendyl. Still, the loan agreement itself did not necessarily tie Glendyl to the Ferrans, only to Vyktor and the Banque D’Ouestan.

I doubted I’d find out more during the course of the evening, but I did hope that Seliora and I could enjoy the company and the various delicacies. Still, every time I turned around, or so it seemed, I discovered something that I should have known-and didn’t-and of which there was no record anywhere.

On Samedi, Seliora and I were totally de cadent. I skipped the early morning exercises and running, and we enjoyed each other and had a leisurely breakfast all by ourselves, for the first time in I couldn’t remember how long. It didn’t matter that the day was chill and gray. We even walked across the Bridge of Desires and had a late midday meal at Patryce’s, one of the better small bistros just off the Boulevard D’Council.

Before we knew it, we were dressing for the winter ball of High Holder Almeida. This time, Seliora was in red and black, in a sleeveless gown with a crimson top over a not-quite-full black skirt and a black silk jacket, trimmed in crimson, with black lace sleeves. She wore long black gloves and a black formal cape, necessary for the walk from the house to the coach stand.

The Almeida estate was situated west of the river and to the north of L’Excelsis, not all that far from Frydryk’s “city” estate, but a half-mille closer to L’Excelsis. There were a good ten coaches lined up on the drive when we arrived at what was truly a chateau, with stone carvings, and antique crenelated parapets topping the garden walls. It took more than a quint before we disembarked and went through the removal of cloaks and being escorted to a ballroom comprising most of the west wing of the chateau. Everyone was announced, of course, and I was slightly surprised to hear “Rhennthyl D’Imagisle, Maitre D’Esprit, and Madame D’Rhennthyl.” That was the older and more formal address, and not much used anymore.

Beyond the ballroom door was the receiving line, consisting of High Holder Almeida and his wife Ruisa, and their eldest son and his wife. As we entered the ballroom, I could see close to a hundred people, not that the ballroom looked at all crowded. I caught a glimpse of Kandryl and Iryela dancing, but they were obscured by others. I did see Justicer Symmal and Chief Councilor Ramsael, not that I really wanted to talk to either man or his wife.

“Would you like to dance, dearest?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

The orchestra was on a permanent low dais, framed by octagonal faux marble pillars with deep green velvet hangings, trimmed in gold, clearly an attempt to replicate the decor of the Charynan Period. As we began to dance, I had to admit that the musicians were far better than those who played for the Council Balls.

After we had enjoyed several dances, when the music paused, I asked, “Are you ready for something to drink?”

“Are you tired already?”

“No, just thirsty.”

“So long as this wasn’t the last dance,” she said teasingly.

“It wasn’t.” It wouldn’t be, not given how much I enjoyed dancing with her.

As we walked toward one of the sideboards, Seliora nudged me. “There’s Alhyral and his fiancee, in the off-blue.”

Knowing her feelings about Alhyral and given mine about his sire, we eased toward the sideboard farther from them, easily enough, since they were talking to another couple. I did see Juniae D’Shendael, but not Geuffryt. I didn’t see any uniforms. That did surprise me.

As we neared the sideboard with an array of wines and crystal goblets, and a server in green and cream livery, a thin man in formal blacks turned, and I recognized Artois. “Good evening, Commander. I don’t believe you’ve met my wife, Seliora.”

Artois smiled warmly and inclined his head. “I have not, but it’s a pleasure, and I can see why your husband has always been careful and dutiful.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Commander. Rhenn has always commented on your dedication to the Civic Patrol.”

“He was equally dedicated, and we will miss him greatly. The Collegium’s gain is our loss. If you will excuse me, my wife is waiting.” He inclined his head once more, then slipped away, carrying two goblets of the white vintage.

I secured two goblets of the white, a Grisio, and offered one to Seliora. We both took several swallows.

“Not bad,” I said.

At that point we were joined by Iryela and Kandryl.

“Good evening,” he offered.

“The same to you,” I returned. “I saw you dancing, but you disappeared.”

“You two didn’t,” returned Iryela. “Everyone was watching you.”

“Oh?” I had to admit I hadn’t noticed.

“You dance well, Rhenn,” Iryela said, “but Seliora is incredibly impressive, and you two are such a handsome couple. When beauty, grace, and power appear on a dance floor, people will watch.”

“She does have all three,” I said blandly. “I just accompany her.”

“Be careful, Seliora,” cautioned Iryela. “He’s verging on the difficult.”

“For that, dearest,” said Seliora, “you may dance with Iryela.” She handed me her goblet and turned to Kandryl. “If you would?”

Kandryl bowed, and as he straightened, offered me a quick and knowing smile.

As they entered the swirl of dancers, Iryela looked at me holding the two goblets and said, “At our wedding, I did tell you that she was more than a match for you.”

“Every time I forget that, she reminds me.” I took several steps and handed both goblets to a server passing with a tray. “Since we are abandoned, would you honor me with a dance?”

“Why, of course. Who would dare to refuse a Maitre D’Esprit?”

“Between the two of you, there’s no way to escape the Namer’s clutches.”