The palace was lit up like a chandelier. Light streamed from every window, casting a shimmering golden hue over the white marble facade, making it look like something summoned from a dream. A floating, gleaming confection of magnificence defying the night.
Imogen knew the size and scope of the palace, the arc of its marble and gilt and glass designed to shout power and might to the world. She knew the less grand administrative buildings in the complex of barracks, office, workshops, and stables that nestled behind the palace best but had some familiarity with the public parts of the palace itself. But its beauty tonight left her almost giddy as the Matins’ carriage drew closer to the head of the queue of carriages waiting to deliver their occupants to the ball.
She flexed her hands in their white satin gloves and tried to draw a deep breath. The corset she wore under her sapphire blue gown made that difficult. She'd made Dina lace it as loosely as possible, but the truth of the matter was that the dresses her mother had ordered were cut tight, and "loosely" was a relative term. The corsets she wore with her uniforms were sensible, front lacing so she could get herself in and out of her clothes, and comfortable as old shoes. She'd forgotten the restrictions of formal gowns.
What would Honore think if she saw Imogene now?
Imogene had told the captain the previous day that yes, she would like to be recommended to bond a sanctii. Honore had seemed pleased, though she repeated her warnings about behaving.
Perhaps that was part of the reason she was so excited now. She hadn't told anyone—not even Chloe—she had a chance at a sanctii, and she had no intention of doing so until she'd been formally granted permission. And really, an invitation to a ball at the palace was respectable in all senses of the word. Her dress was tight, but it was not in any way scandalous. Her mother, annoying as she could be, had undeniable style—even if her choices might not always be Imogene's—and would never send her daughter out in a dress of questionable taste.
She made herself take a breath, then settle back against the seat and try to relax. Enjoy the moment. Choose a night of froth and bubble to let herself shine after months of being the sober, somber lieutenant. Indulge in being female and enjoy the ritual of Dina doing her hair and pulling out her makeup and choosing jewelry to sparkle and gleam at ear and wrist and throat. But there was a limit to how far one could relax in a corset laced for a ball gown. Froth and bubble were all very well, but why couldn't they be a little more comfortable?
"Ready, girls?" Henri Matin asked as the carriage inched forward. Imogene was used to seeing Chloe's father in his Academe robes. In his evening clothes—more formal even than what he wore to the occasional party in their circles—he looked debonair but still mysterious. His sanctii, Martius, was nowhere to be seen. Which didn't mean he wasn't nearby. Sanctii could be invisible and incorporeal when they chose.
Perhaps it was just as well he wasn't riding in the carriage. She might do something foolish and give her excitement away if she was too close to a sanctii just now. She knew Martius as well as a mage could know any sanctii not their own, and he sometimes chose to speak to her. It would be tempting to ask him more about his kind. But even if Henri had not been present, there was the risk that Martius would report any conversation he had back to Henri. For now, Imogene needed to stay silent and rely on the knowledge from her studies. She'd managed to find several of her old textbooks buried in a storage box under her bed and refreshed herself on the lore of sanctii. But none of them contained the actual details of a bonding. Such things were deemed too risky for students. There were books that did contain the information, of course, but she’d had no chance to find a bookstore that might sell them and no excuse to return to the Academe and dig through its library. Besides, she suspected the army would have its own preferences for how the rituals should be performed.
"Of course we're ready," Chloe said, dragging Imogene's attention back to the here and now.
Henri grinned fondly at her. "The more pertinent question may be whether the palace is ready for the two of you, I suspect. Promise me you will behave. Mostly."
Chloe glanced at her father and raised her eyebrows. "Of course, Papa. When have you known us to get into trouble?"
"Only most days of your lives," Henri said. "But this is the palace. There are rules here. You can have fun, dance, flirt with the men who want to flirt with you, but don't forget who you're dealing with. The emperor keeps a tight rein on his court, but most people inside these walls are playing games of power. Don't become pawns."
"No one will be very interested in us," Imogene said. At least, not for the kinds of games Henri was thinking of. She had a different kind in mind.
"Two young, beautiful, strong witches? There may be more interest than you think. Perhaps not from the aristos, but there will be parliamentarians and courtiers and all sorts of men looking to rise high. Don't underestimate them or what they might do." His brows, starting to show threads of gray amongst the black, drew together. "You are here with me, and that will offer a degree of protection, but keep your wits about you."
He was, Imogene thought, being dramatic. Her time with the mages had left her well-trained in how to deal with unwanted advances, and she intended to be less than interesting to any men who showed even the slightest tendency toward matrimony.
"We'll stick together," Imogene said, exchanging a look with Chloe. She hadn't asked Chloe if there was anyone in particular she was hoping to meet at the ball. Hopefully she wasn't about to ruin any...fun Chloe had arranged for herself.
Her friend had maintained her determinedly cheerful face every time they'd seen each other in the three days since Chloe had issued her invitation, but Imogene saw the tension beneath it all. Though so far, Chloe had resisted Imogene's attempts to give her an opening to talk about how she felt. Imogene had to respect that choice.
And she would do so. Along with doing her best to aid Chloe in anything she might choose to do to indulge herself for a night. If anyone deserved fun, it was Chloe. So if that meant distracting Henri from his daughter's choices, or putting her own plans on hold, she would.
Chloe's dress was the shade of ripe seila berries. The deep red set off her pale skin and dark eyes beautifully. She was taller than Imogene, and her figure ran more to curves. She'd be beating off the young aristos with a stick if she chose.
Imogene's own dress was her favorite shade of sapphire blue. Her mother had gotten that much right. And Imogene was hoping it might, when the carriage finally reached the front entrance to the palace, help her do some aristo fishing of her own.