L. Modesitt - Imager

“Beyond the Ball, nothing is happening, except you. I’d hoped we could do something next Samedi.”

“Would you mind attending a wedding with me-on Samedi?”

“A wedding? Is someone in the family getting married?” I hoped she wasn’t asking me. Much as I liked, even loved Seliora, I wasn’t certain I was ready to be married.

“No, I’m not even hinting. You aren’t ready.” She kissed my cheek. “It’s Father’s niece Yaena. If you could meet us here at a little before noon?”

“I can do that, but I don’t have wedding garb.” I did, from Rousel’s wedding, but as an imager, I couldn’t wear it, and I wasn’t certain it even fit any longer.

“Your grays are suitable anywhere.” I got another kiss.

In the end, we didn’t talk so much as just sit in the afternoon and be with each other.

On Lundi evening, Maitre Dyana dismissed me after lessons saying that she’d taught me what I could learn about poisons and imaging at the stage of life experience I had, an interesting way of putting it, I thought. On Mardi, Master Dichartyn said that he’d be too occupied to see me, except in a dire emergency, for at least a week. I also received a short letter from Mother.

Dear Rhenn,

We all enjoyed meeting your young lady ever so much. She is charming, cultured, intelligent, and beautiful. I can understand your caution, but, as Culthyn said, “Rhenn should be ashamed of himself for making everyone worry so much.”

I strongly doubted Culthyn said any such thing, but it was a convenient fiction through which Mother could chide me for making her worry about my not finding a suitable young lady.

We all hope it will not be too long before we see both of you again. We are considering having a larger dinner for some of our friends near the end of Erntyn, and trust you will be able to join us then. I will send you the formal invitation when we receive them next week . . .

Now that I had found a suitable young lady, Mother couldn’t wait to display her to everyone. But I suppose that was minor compared to what else was happening in the world.

According to the newsheets, particularly Veritum, the situation between Jariola and Ferrum was continuing to worsen. On Meredi morning, the lead story featured a statement by the Ferran minister of state that described Jariola as “a land governed by reactionary landholders who understand nothing of commerce and less of government.” He went on to claim that oligarchs like Khasis III and certain High Holders in other lands were mere parasites on a country’s productive capability, as were worker drones who wanted employers to pay for everything while working less and less. From that alone, even had I not been forced to study Ferrum in more depth by Master Dichartyn, I wouldn’t have had much trouble in determining that Ferrum was what I would have called a mercantile empire.

Other than those events, not much of interest occurred during the week, and, while I was interested in seeing what happened at the Council’s Harvest Ball, and learning what I could from observing, I was far more interested in seeing Seliora on Samedi, even if it happened to be a family wedding.

On Vendrei morning, as soon as we arrived at the Council Chateau, Baratyn gave us a final briefing on the Council’s Harvest Ball.

“As I told you, not everyone will be a councilor or a family member. Each councilor has five invitations, and each invitation is good for two people, usually a couple, but it could be for daughters or sons. In addition, there are invitations to the justices of the High Court of Solidar and a number of other functionaries, including the more important envoys from other lands. You will doubtless see other faces you have seen at the Collegium. Do not speak to them unless they address you. Your function is twofold, to watch for anything untoward and to stop it without anyone noticing”-his eyes flicked to me, momentarily-“and to serve as dance partners for ladies in need, with discretion, or if asked. You will, of course, wear the formal white and gray jackets. You all have one, do you not?”

After dismissing us, he beckoned to me and drew me aside. “One other thing, Rhenn . . . for purposes of the Ball, when guests are announced, in the case of unmarried women you may hear something like Mistress Mearjyn D’Something-Alte. The suffix ‘Alte’ is added so that all know she is the daughter of a High Holder. You should note that whenever possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s not just a formality. It has been known that some of such daughters have asked those who have served as you are serving to dance, and it is well that you know their status. Oh . . . the suffix is also used for unmarried sons as well, but that shouldn’t prove a problem. They won’t be asking you to dance.”

In short, treat them with great respect and charm, I translated, unless you want to be on the bad side of their sire, which is something that the Collegium would prefer not to occur. But then, how could I be on much worse footing with High Holders than I was? I caught myself on that. Being on the bad side of two High Holders would be far worse than having only one wanting to do worse to me than killing me.

We left the Collegium early that afternoon, because the Council had adjourned at noon so that they could prepare and dress properly. From the duty coach, on the other side of the ring avenue circling Council Hill, I noticed the same high-sided and roofed wagon I had seen on Solayi evening. It was the kind that had several small porthole windows. The single horse was the same old gelding, and the teamster was apparently trying to adjust something with the traces, although I couldn’t be sure, but I caught myself wondering what that sort of wagon was doing there, especially twice in a week. If it happened to be there when we returned, I’d let Baratyn know.

The duty coach brought us back to the Council Chateau just before seventh glass, and I didn’t see any sign of the old wagon or of anything else out of the ordinary.

The Council’s Harvest Ball began officially at half past seventh glass, but as we had been warned by Baratyn, no one even began to arrive until a quarter before eight. Moments after the first carriage arrived, others pulled up in the drive below the main entry steps, a drive that was normally restricted to councilors alone. Then people began to walk up the outside stone steps and in through the grand foyer past the ceremonial guards and finally up the grand staircase. They took their time on the grand staircase.

“Councilor Hemwyt D’Artisan and Madame D’Hemwyt!” The deep voice announcing the first arrival boomed from a small balding man standing at the left side of the center archway into the great receiving hall.

While people entered and were greeted by the three councilors on the Executive Council, Baratyn and I stood against the west wall just inside the Hall, which was on the south end of the Chateau and effectively occupied the space above the grand foyer. Dartazn and Martyl were stationed along the east wall.

“Councilor Etyenn D’Factorius and Madame D’Etyenn!”

“The Honorable Symmal D’Juris and Madame D’Symmal!”

In less than a quint glass I had begun to lose track of all the names, and in another quint, I was sure I had no idea of all those who were at the Ball.

“In a few moments, when most of the councilors and their guests are here,” Baratyn said quietly, after edging toward me, “I want you to move until you’re along the wall about even with the middle of the dance floor.”