L. Modesitt - Imager

“Yes, sir.” I nodded, then almost froze at the names I heard being announced.

“Dulyk D’Ryel-Alte and Mistress Iryela D’Ryel-Alte . . .”

The names sounded like they were Johanyr’s brother and sister, something I didn’t care for at all, and I moved slightly to the left to get a better look at the couple as they stepped through the central archway into the hall. She was blond, almost white-blond, and petite, if shapely, and wore a gown of silver and shimmering blue, with a glittering silver scarf, trimmed in black. Her brother was a younger and leaner version of Johanyr. Although he was of slightly larger than average height and moved gracefully, there was also a sense of smallness and pettiness surrounding him, although I could not have explained why I felt that.

They vanished into one of the groups of younger people on the east side of the hall, near the sideboards that held various vintages, with uniformed servers behind each.

“Shendael D’Alte and Madame D’Shendael.”

That name caught my attention as well. Madame Juniae D’Shendael could not have been said to be unduly attractive, but rather handsome, with a strong chin and nose, and mahogany hair cut as short as any woman I’d seen in L’Excelsis. Her husband was wiry, shorter, and blond.

“The Honorable Klauzvol Vhillar, envoy of Ferrum, and Mistress Cyana D’Guerdyn-Alte.”

The Ferran envoy coming right behind Madame D’Shendael? Was that just coincidence? And escorting a High Holder’s daughter, when supposedly the Ferrans weren’t exactly fond of the High Holders as a class?

“The Honorable Dharios Harnen, envoy of the Abierto Isles, and Mistress Dhenica Harnen.”

He’d brought his daughter, who looked younger than Khethila and slightly ill at ease.

“The Honorable Herrys Charkovy, envoy of Jariola, and Madame Charkovy . . .”

Apparently, the envoys had arrived at the same time, just after Madame D’Shendael. Given her criticisms of the Council, I wondered who had invited her, and I looked toward Baratyn. “Madame D’Shendael?”

He grinned. “Councilor Caartyl always invites her. It irritates Councilor Suyrien no end.”

Caartyl . . . there was something there, but I couldn’t grasp it for a moment. Then it hit me. Caartyl was the guild member on the Executive Council, and he was the one that the strange factor Alhazyr had visited-a visit that had disturbed Master Dichartyn.

In the background, the orchestra, set on a temporary dais at the south end of the hall, opposite the entry archways, began to play. Baratyn nodded to me, and I began to edge toward my designated station.

A good half glass passed as I watched the dancers, and those moving to and from the sideboards, or standing and talking, holding wineglasses. Dartazn danced past several times with an older woman I did not recognize, perhaps a relation of some sort.

As the orchestra paused between dances, I couldn’t help but notice a slender woman in blue and silver walking in my direction, casually half-twirling the end of a long black and silver scarf. As she drew closer, I realized that she was Iryela D’Ryel. I also had the feeling that I had seen her sometime before, but I couldn’t place where it might have been. How could I have seen her? I kept a pleasant smile on my face and waited for her to pass.

She didn’t. Instead, she stopped and looked at me, closely. “You’re Rhennthyl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Please . . .” She offered a smile that was half wry and half tired. “I’m Iryela, and you’re an imager tertius, at least.” Her voice was pleasant enough, if slightly higher than I would have preferred. “You’re also the one who put my brother in his place.”

I eased full shields into play, if so close to my skin that no one could have detected them, without punching or slapping me. “I beg your pardon?” I also scanned the area around me, but no one seemed to be paying much attention to us. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t-or wouldn’t.

“Johanyr . . . you must remember him?” A tinge of amusement colored her soprano voice.

“Yes, I encountered him several times.” That admitted nothing.

“Encountered-a fair way of putting it, perhaps better than he deserved.” She smiled. “Would you dance with me?”

I couldn’t say no. “I would be honored.”

A faint, delicate, and pervasive floral fragrance came with her as she slipped into my arms when the orchestra began to play and we eased out among the other dancers. Her eyes were a gray-blue that her gown and scarf intensified.

“You’re in great danger, you know?” Her voice was lower, conversational, and as matter-of-fact as if she’d told me that it would rain on the morrow.

“I have the feeling, Mistress Iryela, that I may always be in great danger. Pleasant as it is, dancing with you could also present a danger.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Certainly no more danger than already exists. I won’t ask you to kiss me, nor to marry me. At least, not for a time, and please call me Iryela.”

“I’m not of High Holder background,” I said with a laugh. “Nor do I have the dancing experience to go with it.” She wouldn’t ask for a kiss, or more, for a time? Did that suggest Maitre Dyana was correct, that her father would take his time in dealing with me? Or was it just a part of a more elaborate plan or charade?

“You’re more than adequate, and better than most of your peers, and far more handsome.”

“And you are far more beautiful than yours, as you must know, and possibly more deadly.” But she wasn’t nearly the dancer that Seliora was.

“That’s a compliment I have not heard before. My father would be pleased, but it would be a pity to tell him. I almost might, except that would please Johanyr and Dulyk, and that would not please me.”

Iryela was playing a deeper game than I could discern, but it was clear that she had a purpose, one that I wasn’t even certain I wanted to consider. “Brothers often view matters in a different light.”

“Do you have a sister?”

“I have one. I’m quite fond of her, as I’m certain you know.”

She smiled. “You do me much credit.”

“I suspect I give you less than your due, since you were so easily able to find me.”

“You assume that I was looking for you. Is that not rather presumptuous?”

“I think not, not if I assume that it was not for my appearance or my station or my nonexistent wealth.”

“More and more interesting.”

More and more dangerous. “No . . . you are the one of interest, for so seldom does one of great beauty, position, and charm ever appear in my world.”

“More flattery yet.” She laughed.

“Flattery, yet truth, as you well know.”

“I see no others coming to take me from you, Rhennthyl.”

“That only says that none dare cross your will.”

“Were that it were so.” There was just the tiniest edge behind the laughing words.

When the orchestra paused, I released her and inclined my head.

She returned the gesture. “If you would not mind escorting me back to my younger brother.”

“My pleasure, mistress.”

“Iryela.”

“My pleasure, Iryela.”

Her brother was in a small group with another younger man and a woman slightly younger than Khethila. “Iryela . . . we are honored at your return.”

“As pleased and honored as I am, dearest Dulyk.” She smiled, sweetly, then inclined her head to me. “Thank you for the dance, Rhennthyl. I did enjoy it.”

“My pleasure, Iryela.” I took a step back, inclined my head to her, and eased away, but slowly enough to try to overhear what might be said.

“. . . most politely done, dear sister, if rather direct . . .”