L. Modesitt - Imager

“. . . do believe in courtesy, Dulyk . . . and always will . . .”

“You are so refreshing, sister dearest . . .”

I concealed a wince as I moved back toward my station. Iryela lived in a family that made even Caliostrus’s menage seem warm and welcoming.

In less than half a glass, the orchestra would stop, and Councilor Suyrien would offer a toast to all the guests of the Council, but before that, I needed to return to my post.

“Do you know who asked you to dance?” asked a figure in formal black-Master Dichartyn. He’d caught me by surprise, because I’d still expected him to be in gray or gray and white.

“Mistress Iryela D’Ryel-Alte, and she used me as some sort of insult to her younger brother, who is her escort tonight-and possibly even to her father.”

Master Dichartyn nodded. “There is always infighting for survival in High Holder families.”

“You’re suggesting I might use that?”

“I would suggest nothing at the moment. Any conflict between you and High Holder Ryel has not yet begun, and the longer before he announces his intent, the better for you.”

“In what fashion will he announce it?”

“Let us just say that you will know without any doubt.”

Another of his infuriatingly vague statements! I hoped he would say more, but when he did not, I knew I would get nothing further, and I asked, “Do you have any instructions?”

“No. You can move around more. Just observe what you can.” He slipped away before I could reply.

Ahead, I saw a girl-tall enough to be a woman, but too young-watching the dancers. She was alone. Well . . . that was one of my duties, and perhaps if we stayed to the outside of the swirl of dancers I might see or learn something.

“Mistress, might I have the honor of a dance?”

Her eyes widened just slightly as she turned to me, but she recovered quickly. “You might.” Her smile was practiced, but with a stiffness that was slightly awkward and charming.

I took her into my arms and out into the dancers. Young she might have been, but she was a far better dancer than I.

“You dance exceedingly well, mistress.”

“Alynkya, Alynkya D’Ramsael.”

I liked the fact that she didn’t add the “Alte” to her name. “Your father is the councilor from Kephria, then.”

“He is. My mother was indisposed, and she asked him to bring me.”

She was even younger than she looked, perhaps because she was so tall, but I should have guessed because the councilor was the tallest member of the Council, by a good half head, if not more.

“How do you like the Ball?”

“I don’t know many people here.”

“Do you live here in L’Excelsis or in Kephria?”

“Kephria, most of the time.”

I danced with Alynkya for two dances, and then her father arrived and danced with her. He only smiled at me, patronizingly. I’d have to remember that, not as a grudge, but as a fact. I’d also have to remember Alynkya and wish she retained some of that youthful charm and directness. Probably not, given her father, but one could hope.

Near one of the sideboards, I caught sight of Madame D’Shendael. She was talking to someone-the Ferran envoy.

I eased closer as the two talked, then took a position where I could ostensibly watch the dance floor, but from where I could overhear most of their conversation, or glance in their direction.

“You have often suggested that Solidar has little music, Klauzvol. What you do think now?”

“This is a nice little orchestra, madame, but it is a pity that there are not others like it. For the capital of a great nation . . .”

“One cannot have everything, as you have said before. Our artists are superb . . .”

“Ah . . . that is indeed true, but so are those of Ferrum, particularly in Ferrial . . .”

I wanted the opportunity to speak to Madame D’Shendael, as well as to get a closer look at the envoy, but I certainly couldn’t speak directly to her, or stare. So I looked at her for a moment, then looked away. Several moments later I did the same, while trying to project a clueless curiosity.

After three of my attempts, she turned and glided toward me, trailed by the Honorable Klauzvol Vhillar.

“Young man?”

“Yes, madame?” I did turn to her, smiling pleasantly. “Might I be of some assistance?”

“You seemed, shall we say, less than fully interested in your duties, whatever they might be.”

“Madame, that is doubtless true. I was attempting to see, without being too obvious, if you looked like the etched portrait in the front of On Art and Society . My sister has all of your books. I don’t know whether she’s finished that one, because she just got it. Even though she’s never been married, she found A Widow’s Guide invaluable . . . I beg your pardon.”

She laughed, a sound somehow harshly melodic, but not mocking. “So I still have readers.”

“Yes, madame.” I needed to get Vhillar closer. “You haven’t changed that much since Emanus painted that miniature . . .”

I could sense her stiffen . . . ever so slightly.

“That’s less than common knowledge. How would a young man such as yourself know such a distinguished portraiturist?”

Vhillar kept a pleasant smile on his face, but edged closer.

“I was a journeyman portraiturist before I came here. Emanus liked a chess study I did, and offered several comments about it. We talked several times.” At that point, I extended the faintest image-probe, and immediately sensed a shield reaction-of the same sort of shield that I had sensed outside Terraza. There couldn’t be another foreign shield like that-not unless there were far more imager agents in L’Excelsis than Master Dichartyn knew, and that was doubtful, but still a disturbing possibility.

His eyes widened, if only fractionally, and I could sense a strengthening of his shields, but I concealed my surprise, both at his shields and his reaction, although I had half-expected to find him an imager, for reasons I could not have explained.

“You are rather young for this kind of approach, are you not?” offered Vhillar without any hesitation. “And such familiarity with a lady you do not know might not be considered . . . seemly . . . by your superiors.” His smile was pleasant and polished, as was his voice.

“I confess brashness, madame . . . and sir, but only because of my admiration and that of my sister for Madame D’Shendael for her writings and all she has endured . . . to bring those words to life so that others can read them. Admiration and the wish to hear the words of one so distinguished is certainly not undue familiarity.”

“Such artistry in flattery,” Vhillar offered. “Such charm beyond your years and experience.”

I only smiled, looking at Juniae D’Shendael and inclining my head politely. “My thanks for your words, madame.”

“He means well, I believe, Klauzvol,” replied Madame D’Shendael. “Presumptuously, but with honest brashness. Shall we dance?”

“My honor, madame.” Vhillar glanced at me quickly as he swirled her onto the dance floor, but the look was one that committed my face to memory.

I’d have to be more than careful. I’d revealed to Vhillar that I knew what he was, and I doubted he wanted anyone to know that, but how else could I have discovered it? Then, it could be that Master Dichartyn already knew, and that was a reason why he was here.

I scanned the great receiving hall, slowly, trying to do so casually, but I didn’t see Master Dichartyn or Baratyn. Besides, Baratyn wouldn’t understand, nor was I going to have the time to explain the complexity of the situation. If he’d been the one with the Ferran outside Terraza-and I was almost certain he was-he’d already killed, or arranged the killing of close to ten imagers, not to mention at least four attempts on me. In addition, he was friendly with an influential High Holder with ties to those on the Council-and that High Holder’s father had most likely been killed because of his conversation with me. And from that last look at me, it was clear that Vhillar knew exactly who I happened to be-and that I knew who and what he was.