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Lord Bernard’s invitation hadn’t arrived until the day prior to the tea, despite his attendance at Elysant’s every dance since the first. Gaines’s delivery had arrived the morning after the ball, as per his word, with a hefty embroidered purse.
Carolle paced the small bedchamber she shared with Lucille and Braith in the theatre’s dormitory and reread Gaines’s note. She handed the note to Lucille. “Favorite color, my arse. What’s he thinking? The queen’ll pretend not to see me if I wear this.” She plucked at the hem of the satin canary skirt, thankfully a shade softer than Lord Bernard’s yellow had been. “What kind of man can have a courtier dress sewn—and tailored—overnight?”
Lucille dropped the note on her bunk next to Braith. “The kind I do hope to know better! Chester said Barimor Gaines is in the Eighth Ring of High Houses, too.”
“I envy you both,” Braith said. “Not of the courtship, mind, but the fancy gowns, royal teas, games of intrigue . . .”
“One hundred and fifty plat!” Lucille squealed. She cast her admiration to the purse on Carolle’s bed again.
“It hardly seems real,” Braith said, “and makes practicing the flute seem very plain.”
“Don’t envy us, Braith,” Carolle said. “Patevians meddling in High House affairs . . . I nearly refused Gaines for fear of what Madame Davies would say if she found out . . . until that purse came by here.”
Lucille shot her a tired look and went to the purse. “Refused? A large price to pay to keep Ol’ Davies happy.” Flipping open the embroidered flap, she peeked inside. “You’d feel better if we enjoyed some extravagance for ourselves, wouldn’t you? With this, we can get our own dresses proper tailored by dawn.”
“You leave those coins alone, good girl,” Carolle said firmly. “We’re not spending a halfpenny until the job is done. I won’t go having it all pulled out from under us and be beholden to a noble. You know the saying. ‘If you can’t see the cage for the gilt, you’re already trapped.’”
Lucille shared Carolle’s mam’s dedication to all things shiny and hadn’t heard a word.
Carolle closed the purse. “And you be careful with that Chester Fellows, Luce. I’d wager his bed cushions a lot of backsides.”
“Oh, he isn’t like that,” Lucille said. “Chester is very considerate, like. You should see his smile, Braith. Like a heroic prince from a fairy story, he is.” She practically swooned as she stared into the middle distance.
“Bollocks. He’s an oily soul,” Carolle said. She tempered the statement by adding, “As all nobles are. Chester may be the amethyst in the rocks, but make him prove it before he’s got you wearing a wooden nose.”
Holding up the dress to block Lucille’s scowl, Carolle studied the white bustier. Daffodils and Patevian poppies in thread of gold accentuated the bust. The same pattern lined the underside of its double sleeves, a nod to Patevian fashion. “How long has Gaines been planning this?”
Lucille reached under Carolle’s pillow and removed the silver drop necklace. “You could ask the dragon for whatever Gaines is after.”
“No, Luce,” Braith said. “He’d know it was for profit.”
“Fine,” Lucille replied. “Then you can ask him about Chester.” She giggled at Carolle’s glower.
Laying the dress as flat as she could manage on her small bed, Carolle said, “I meant what I said, Lucille Morgan.” She took the necklace, wound it up in her fist, and placed it back under her pillow. “Now, come on, then. There’s only one thing for it. Help me get into this sunbeam.”
Once the final ribbon had been tied and the abundant mother-of-pearl buttons had been looped, Carolle couldn’t deny a sense of power, contrary to the color. “You’re probably right,” she said, admiring the fit in the mirror. “I shouldn’t worry about catching Lord Bernard’s eye.” They laughed.
Carolle gripped Lucille’s wrist and spoke to herself in the mirror. “I’m just the tool, a well-paid tool. I’ll do the job. And we’ll enjoy the coin.”
“We certainly will!” Lucille agreed. Bolstered by the excitement in Braith’s eyes, Carolle resigned herself with as deep a breath as she could pull.
Someone knocked on the door, three firm raps. Brushing down the back of Carolle’s skirts, Braith murmured sweet worries. When Lucille had hidden away the purse, Braith let Madame Davies enter in her pistachio-colored ensemble, awash in her newly acquired lavender scent. Boldly chosen, the ruffled bonnet actually worked well with the matron’s auburn curls and pale complexion.
“Duwiau mawr,” Madame Davies uttered, taking in the yellow snugness. She pursed her lips.
“A gift,” Carolle said.
Snatching their matron’s wrist, Lucille spun the woman to face her. “Please, Madame Davies! Carolle’s got a real chance! Promise you won’t interfere!”
“What’s this now? A chance at what?” Madame Davies asked Carolle.
“I won’t lie to you; she’s got a proper suitor!” Lucille lied. “A lord of the High Houses, like! Do let them get their moment alone, if it comes to that.”
Madame Davies huffed. “Alone?”
Leave it to Lucille to take it a step too far. “Steady, Luce,” Carolle said. “You’ll draw the fairies’ ears and have it doomed before it begins.” Madame Davies’s shoulders went rigid and Carolle explained, “There may have been a passing interest and an inquiry made. That’s all. Luce is getting far ahead of the rest of us.”
“He sent you a dress to wear for him!” Lucille said.
“And this is wanted attention?” Madame Davies asked.
The care in the question stirred Carolle’s guilt. Yet the good would outweigh her lie. She timidly nodded.
“The High Houses are no guarantee for happiness, Carolle Ysbryd. You’ll think clearer on it in the spring. After Elysant’s time here, yes?” Carolle would have given a plat to hear Madame Davies’s true thoughts and another to assuage them.
Fluttering her pistachio-green fan, Madame Davies asked, “Have you got a fan to go with that dress?”
Carolle’s fan splayed its golden flowers for her matron’s approval.
As they left, Lucille said, “Do be careful.”
“Careful?” Madame Davies barked down the corridor. “We’re going to tea, good girl, not a riot! The queen may chew us up and spit us out, but she won’t be beheading us, like.”
All the same, Braith and Lucille accompanied them to the street.
The early-afternoon sun heated the inside of their man-hauled carriage trundling toward Verdict Hill. Carolle unlatched a window. Children in simple linens chased after them. Carolle waved back until the guarded gate to Verdict Hill blocked their cheerful escort.
When the carriage tilted back in its uphill climb, Carolle daydreamed about how she’d use the plat first. Buy a permanent home? Or begin a troupe for troubled young ones? She frowned out the window. The very concept of Madame Davies’s generosity was as foreign to the occupants of these marble High Houses as she was.
Madame Davies teased her with a cooing sound. “You do like this noble boy. A bat could see your nerves, girl. You don’t have to be an oracle to see what’s occurring there.”
Playing it off in good humor, Carolle shook her head.
“Don’t you worry. I won’t be interfering, if his interests won’t be interfering with our show. I’m not ready for Lucille Morgan to be Elysant—and neither is she.”
When they came to a stop, Madame Davies closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders. “Bright eyes. Bright smiles. Poise.”
Carolle followed her matron out onto the red-bricked broad street. Flowering lobelias, as vibrant as the marble estate’s royal-blue doors, decorated the powerful High House in tiered baskets. Full hedges lined the austere white walls, a welcoming contrast to the stark Verdict Ring behind her. Carolle grinned at the gentle touches, not at all what she expected from the curmudgeon everyone claimed Lord Bernard to be.
However, the welcome didn’t extend to the doorman’s face. The wrinkled servant stooped. “This way, if it pleases you. Her Majesty, Queen Ameera of Racine, and High Lord Bernard of the Tenth Ring shall be delighted by your presence.”
Indigo paint coated the estate’s hallways above the dark oak wainscoting. Portraits, tapestries, and overstuffed settees filled the long gallery with a sense of hospitality. Somewhat worn hospitality, but warm all the same. Yet guards in dragon-emblazoned armor lurked at every corner.
Midway down a wide staircase, they drifted left and came to an archway. In the daylight on the other side, Queen Ameera mingled with courtiers. Carolle stepped through when the herald received her name. Her jaw dropped. She had seen smaller banquet halls than this High House balcony.
Carolle hadn’t taken in the full view of the snow-covered peaks beyond the bay before Madame Davies hauled her away by an arm around her waist. She hadn’t even heard her name announced. Thankfully, neither had the queen over her courtiers’ discussions of the lace-worked fans spreading up the wall of Lord Bernard’s home to form a multicolored rose.
“Do Racinians do anything small?” Carolle asked Madame Davies. Musicians piped and strummed their way through Anstef Myranna’s “Great Suite” while more nobles judged tapestries, poetry, and paintings set in opposite corners of the balcony. Informal judging ran rampant when their conversations lulled. “Tea? It’s a pastel and silver eisteddfod, this.” Sadly, not a body danced.
Carolle saw neither Lord Bernard nor Gaines. If Lord Bernard wasn’t in attendance at his own tea, how was she supposed to befriend him? Sneak into his residence?
Surrendering to Madame Davies’s urging, she entered the savory aroma of pasties and plentiful morsels. A bit overwhelmed, Carolle clung to the end of one of the tables on which plates of sugared apples formed a spiral between whole pumpkins and gourds. Madame Davies helped herself.
Spotting a familiar face, Carolle shared a relieved smile with Gbad’Wu. In contrast to the Racinians’ stiff skirts, cornflower-blue silks flowed about Gbad’Wu’s legs as she made her way over with a full plate. Her lilac Daijon necklace had been replaced by a nearly identical blue one. “At last, two foreigners who are not entangled in the rivalry of the Towers,” she said.
“Towers?” Carolle asked. “I haven’t seen any mages, bar the queen.”
Gbad’Wu raised a canapé with thick orange purée and pointed her pinky to the far end of the balcony. “They are arguing over the alchemy contests around the corner.” She took a bite.
“Gods,” Carolle gasped. “It’s even bigger?” Perhaps that was where Lord Bernard hid.
While Carolle scanned the far end of the balcony, a silver-mantled mage with her hood down broke through the crowd. Uncommonly short, the mage’s black hair had been pinned into a bump on her head. Gbad’Wu waved the woman over. Her spectacles rose with a friendly grin. “Alchemy proves as fruitful as ever,” the mage said. “Bless them. They are ever so proud of their continued failures. Alas, alchemy remains as useless as those frilly fans.” Thumbing over to the large rose, she glanced down at the fan Carolle held. “No offense intended.”
“None found,” Carolle said. “I forget it’s there half of the time.” She caught Lady Leupp making a face in her direction and lowered her voice. “And fight the temptation to use it as a weapon the other half.” Madame Davies cleared her throat at that comment.
The voices around them receded as rose petal perfume wafted forward. “I find offense,” Queen Ameera said with a playful flourish of her fan at the mage. She lifted the mage’s black bell sleeve and cocked an eyebrow. In tiny letters, PASTELS repeated in pink, blue, and green embroidery across the velvet. “Elanis lost her say on etiquette when she became a mercenary and forgot the function of fashion.”
“For the Hook, Ameera,” Elanis replied, jerking her sleeve free. Carolle went cold, but the queen curled the corners of her mouth in amusement at the mage’s curt response. “You make it sound like I’m some fopdoodle thug. I’m wearing a skirt. What more do you want?”
The queen’s eyes lit up with a retort, though she didn’t voice it. Red to her ears, Elanis’s bespectacled glare said she didn’t have to.
“The only way back into my good graces, Mage Kimball,” Queen Ameera said loudly, “is to help in judging those useless, frilly fans these ladies have spent so many hours creating.” The queen’s jovial demeanor relayed her lightheartedness to the noblewomen around them.
Elanis groaned with her mouth closed.
A copper-skinned man in a sapphire mantle from the Alabonian Tower knelt before the queen, blocking her return to the fans. “Your Majesty, it is my pleasure to deliver King Casdar of Alabon’s well wishes.”
“How kind,” the queen said in an amiable tone. “Please see them returned.” She fanned for the four ladies to follow her around the mage, who wasn’t sure if his king had just been insulted. Neither was Carolle.
Carolle scanned the corner of the balcony for Lord Bernard again but, trapped in the queen’s pull, trailed along to the crafted rose.
Out of the Alabonian mage’s earshot, Elanis snorted. “He sends mages as messengers now. Does he mean to appeal to the mage under your crown?”
A low hum from the queen relayed her agreement. “Of course he does, El. Nothing else has rewarded his efforts. I give the king some credit for trying new tactics.”
Drawing them closer beneath the handmade fans, Queen Ameera elaborated. “To the blissful masses, marriage is a natural solution for two single monarchs. No one believes a queen’s agenda to reach further.”
“Well, that—” Madame Davies bit her tongue too late.
“Speak freely, Lady Davies,” the queen said. “I do enjoy hearing my mother’s accent on your tongue.”
Fluttering her fan a little too fast, Madame Davies continued, “Well, I just meant to say that sounds like it would be a prosperous union, Your Majesty. Alabon is a lovely nation, by all account.” She shrugged to dismiss her statements.
The queen put her finger to the red lace edging the fan hung before her and tightened a loose thread. “While the nation is wealthy and the largest border Racine shares, make no mistake; the very nature of marriage to a king grants sparse advantage to me, far less than it places in his hands. In fact, it robs me of power. If that were not deterrent enough, King Casdar is forty years my senior. One need not assume his main purpose in marriage shall be producing an heir.” She visibly shuddered and mischievously grinned at their blushes.
Elanis folded her arms and thinned her lips, making Carolle wonder if the mage’s relationship with the queen surpassed friendship.
Queen Ameera flicked her fingers in the Alabonian mage’s direction as though trying to rid herself of a mosquito. “Pests. When I need a man to govern Racine, I shall make my own through a more enjoyable endeavor.”
Allowing herself a guarded smirk, Carolle glanced to the balcony’s corner again. She needed to free herself, but how could she without insulting the queen? Carolle asked, “Will Your Majesty be judging the alchemy contest as well?”
Elanis snorted. “Yes, Ameera, doesn’t Grand Diviner Sylvester appreciate your input?”
The queen pursed her lips at the gibe and tapped the mage’s arm with her fan. “A misstep I shall own. Inviting the visiting mages to this tea was meant to instill a sense of community, to accrete the Towers for once. Alas,” she said, tipping her head in the messenger’s direction, “they have their own agendas.”
As the queen deepened her explanation for Madame Davies, Carolle sensed her opportunity for escape and took a step back. Gbad’Wu noticed. “I’m famished,” Carolle mouthed.
Gbad’Wu’s amused face called her a liar. She put her arm through Carolle’s to hold her in place. When Queen Ameera finished her sentence, Gbad’Wu bit into a puff pastry and moaned. “Carolle, ma chère, you must try a vol-au-vent. They are divine.”
“Yes,” Queen Ameera said, “please do. The salmon canapés are my favorite. A local delicacy we export to Patevia.”
With the queen’s attention back on Madame Davies, Carolle silently thanked Gbad’Wu. Vol-au-vents and salmon canapés secured, she skirted the long way around Queen Ameera’s view. In doing so, she caught sight of Gaines. He briskly scowled and pointed his chin to the balcony’s corner, as though she hadn’t figured that out.
Fewer nobles milled about between the silver, amber, sapphire, and crimson mantles. Proudly toiling with fizzing concoctions and chiming metalworks, the mages from all four Towers bantered with varying degrees of civility. The Tower of Trône d’Argent’s grand diviner, a spindly man in robes as white as his hair, intently listened to explanations of a clockwork snail.
A barn owl on Grand Diviner Sylvester’s shoulder twisted its head about to watch Carolle pass by in her quest for Lord Bernard. There he was, in muted grays and blues, sitting alone at a small table with his attention spearing a book.
Carolle approached, though Lord Bernard didn’t notice, turning over a page and twiddling the graying hairs on his chin. She hated to bother him but had three hundred reasons to do so. “The view is beautiful, Lord Bernard,” she said. “Your home is lovely and all!”
Breaking free of the page, Lord Bernard closed the tome. His belly laughs at the yellow of her dress scented the air with sweet pipe grass. “A Patevian ally in more ways than one!” He rose into a stiff stance.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your reading.” Carolle read aloud, “The Miltiad Manifesto?”
His face grew stern. “Yes. When you’re in my position, it’s of dire importance to stay abreast of our neighbors’ laws, no matter how inimical and fatalistic.”
“Miltiad is one of the Warring States, innit?”
“Quite right,” he answered. His bushy eyebrows lowered over his deep-set slate eyes. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked that. The silence lingered into awkwardness.
“I wanted to thank you, Lord Bernard,” Carolle said.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” he replied. “The queen insisted, after all.”
“Yes,” Carolle said. “For the invitation. But also, I wanted to thank you for attending our show. I’ve seen you in the audience.” The man blushed and turned his focus to the gibing mages. “Real grateful, I am, to have your support.”
He met her eyes long enough to nod once.
Carolle placed her fan over her heart in a show of sincerity, tickling her collarbone with the laced edge. He nodded again. Gods, was the man thick? Her mind began grasping for polite conversation, a topic of mutual interest. What did nobles talk about?
A young woman sang out, “Lord Bernard!” Lady Leupp swept over and offered her hand to him. Her eyebrows twitched upward in surprise at seeing Carolle there. The lady put her back to her. “There you are. I thought I might find you back here in need of suitable company.” She giggled like a loon, but the fan behind her back drooped in insult.
Next to sick of the excessive perfumes these nobles used, Carolle would have encouraged Lady Leupp to use more.
“Not at all, Ludmilla,” Lord Bernard replied. “Lady Ysbryd has saved me from my solitude.”
Ignoring the mention of Carolle, Lady Leupp said, “You have not replied to my invitation, my lord. The fête is in two days.”
“Fête?” he asked.
Lady Leupp poked her fingernail at him playfully. “You know! At Lake Sabine. I do one every year now.” Her fingers walked up his sleeve to his shoulder.
“Ah! Of course,” Lord Bernard said, flinching away. “Thackeray mentioned something of the sort. Yes, well, you know . . .”
Carolle sensed her opportunity, though her mouth soured before releasing the impertinent words. “Lake Sabine? I hear it’s exquisite this time of year. I do love a good view, I do.”
“Oh, yes,” Lady Leupp replied, still trying to ignore her. “The leaves began to turn last week.”
“They must be inspiringly brilliant by now,” Lord Bernard said.
Carolle imitated a doe-eyed girl, silently begging him to show her. His blank gaze lingered on her.
Partially turning her head Carolle’s way, Lady Leupp added, “Of course, you wouldn’t be able to see them yourself. The lake lies between the royal castle and the Tower of Trône d’Argent. Access is unfortunately restricted to those who belong on Verdict Hill.”
Lord Bernard’s eye twitched. “As a matter of fact, yes! Yes, Ludmilla, I shall be there, and Lady Ysbryd shall be my guest.”
“Will she?” Lady Leupp replied in a high voice.
Carolle curtsied to hide her victorious smirk. “You honor me, Lord Bernard. Lady Leupp. I can’t wait to see it!”
“Now, now,” Lady Leupp said. “I understand your excitement, but let’s maintain our decorum. Shall I let the help know to prepare that simple, simple speckled bread your kind are so fond of?”
Beaming in spite, Carolle lost her interest in deference. She let her fan dangle, feigning ignorance to the returned insult. “Oh, a nice offer, that, Lady Leupp, but no need to bother. They’ll likely over spice it, as your kind are so fond of doing.” Carolle stared at the woman’s excessive use of cosmetics and picked up a salmon canapé from her plate. She offered it. “But Queen Ameera is right; this salmon is delicious. Have you tried it?”
Declining with a raised hand, Ludmilla Leupp bade Lord Bernard a good afternoon. The lady’s face drooped with poorly veiled disdain for Carolle as she headed off to the nobler side of the balcony.
Lord Bernard’s face smoothed when Carolle peered up at him, but she could have sworn he had been smirking. “Well, that seems serendipitous,” he said. “It remains to be seen, however, if your reward will be worth the price.”
“Oh,” Carolle moaned. “It’s my reward alone, innit? I am ever so grateful to you for enduring the fête on my behalf.” With sincere gratitude, Carolle dipped. “Please allow me to leave you to your reading, Lord Bernard. Thank you again for your invitation to the fête. I look forward to conversing with you more then.”
On her way back to Madame Davies, Carolle’s nerves led her to devoured her plate of nibbles and go back to the tables for more. Gaines loitered about nearby and worked his way over as she helped herself to more of the smoky salmon. “That was quick,” he said. “I trust you’ve secured another invitation.”
“I have,” Carolle answered, debating between the mysterious orange purée and the green one. “You may be interested in knowing he’s reading The Miltiad Manifesto as we speak.”
“Miltiad?” Gaines asked. “Hmph. When do you see him next?”
She chose the orange. “I’ll be his guest to Lady Leupp’s fête.”
Gaines groaned.
Carolle retracted her hand from the vol-au-vents and looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he answered. “You did well.” Yet he sneered at the foie gras. “This simply means I must accept Lady Leupp’s invitation myself.”
Carolle shrieked a laugh and startled him away from her. He rounded the table and examined the selections on the opposite side.
“I don’t need supervision,” she said quietly. “I’m capable of enjoying a fête on my own.”
“No,” he said. “I mean to come along as a distraction for Lady Leupp. She cannot resist an unwed man who can help her climb the Hill. I’m only an Eighth Ring lord, but I like to think I’m more enticing than the stodgy fool of a high lord you’ll preoccupy.”
“Very nice,” Carolle remarked. “You leak charm, you.”
Pinching a soft croissant from a napkin-lined tray, he asked, “Do you own a dress he hasn’t seen?”
Carolle answered in annoyance, “Yes, I’ve got one.”
“One?”
“Pale blue, very pretty if I do say so.”
Gaines snickered and tore into his croissant. “I’ll have it seen to. Please continue to impress me, Lady Ysbryd.”
With that, Carolle made her way back to the queen’s circle, which still included Madame Davies, fanning herself to winnow away the red from her cheeks.
