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Five weeks flew past in a whirl of performances, practices, and chess. Winter browned autumn for another cycle, summoning the Winter Peak holiday and the most formal Racinian engagement.
Carolle assumed her place on the side of the royal ballroom’s dance floor. She watched the queen’s dais out of the corner of her eye, where Queen Ameera sat on her silver dragon-winged throne. Around her, the high lords and ladies of the Tenth Ring had donned their ice-blue loyal-to-the-throne ensembles. Carolle grinned at Lord Bernard, standing there dutifully in his damask coat without an inkling of joy in his features.
Trône d’Argent mages and the grand diviner filed in to stand before the queen. They dipped and bowed before turning to watch the opening ceremony. Queen Ameera raised her hand. On cue, a harp roused the musicians.
Carolle glided across the white dwarven crystal tiles of the dance floor toward Dafydd. Her arm lifted out from the rabbit fur lining her taffeta peach cape. Without touching Dafydd’s fingers, she circled him and deftly avoided the hooves of the sculpture suspended in the air.
Looming above the affair, ice captured the Koenig royal crest in a life-sized rendering. The crimson dragon’s wings spanned the ballroom in a frozen flight amid a snow enchantment that never reached the dance floor. Claws dangled a great elk stag by its antlers, hanging low, as though someone might miss the magical masterpiece if it didn’t pose a hazard.
Four rotations of partners brought Carolle to the middle of the song and near the end of the twirling line. Madame Davies and Mage Serrano spurred the noble spectators to join in. Mage Serrano’s crimson mantle jarred a bit with the pastels around the room. He swaggered around Madame Davies, who appeared quite enthralled herself, elegantly coifed in gifts from Queen Ameera, including her Racinian-blue dress.
Carolle peeled away from the line in a final twirl and entered the spectators, thankful the snowy spell chilled the air and reduced the potency of the floral perfumes wafting about. Her numbed fingers begged her for a hot cup of tea. Treat in both hands, she let her digits thaw and made her way to the petite woman in lavender silks examining the display of hors d’oeuvres. Gbad’Wu’s bare arms made Carolle shudder. “It gives me the creed, seeing you in no sleeves! Aren’t you cold?” Carolle asked.
Flashing a friendly smile, Gbad’Wu answered, “Not for many years. The cold invigorates my kind. A benefit of our order.”
“Order?”
“My monastery, the Mount of Ukresti.”
Carolle stopped blowing across her tea. “Wait, Gbad’Wu. You’re a monk?”
“And a midwife,” Gbad’Wu said. “I recruit lost souls to join the Mount.”
“Well,” Carolle said, searching for her words. She took a substantial pull from her tea, flavored with honey and lemon. “Didn’t expect a monk to be wearing pretty silks and jewelry, is all. Not seen many, to be fair. Spellbreakers, really.”
“More separates me from them than my clothes.”
Someone tugged on Carolle’s sleeve. Lucille offered an apology to Gbad’Wu for interrupting. “Have you seen, Chester?” When Carolle shook her head, Lucille went on the hunt again.
A quick scan of the room didn’t reveal Gaines yet, either. Her stomach didn’t mind his absence, as it had been turning against her all day with the threat of his plan moving forward. While she remained committed to the task, she had to admit she’d grown fond of Lord Bernard.
Carolle emptied her drink and gave her cup to a passing servant. Fanning for Gbad’Wu to join her, Carolle asked, “Do monks dance, Gbad’Wu?”
“Bien sûr,” Gbad’Wu answered. “Yet how can I go?” She waved her arms out over the food. Then she gestured with her open hand to the table at the end of the row. “Do you see what this table offers?” The monk hauled Carolle along by the wrist. Gbad’Wu’s brown scarred hands picked up a plate, added a truffled bun, and drizzled it with a buttery yellow sauce. She forced the plate on Carolle.
Amusing the monk, Carolle bit into the bun and dropped her plate on the table. This time she seized the monk’s wrist to drag her onto the dance floor but turned and collided with Grand Diviner Sylvester. Choking on her bite, Carolle coughed and waved her apology. The sharp angles of his face grew harder. His barn owl stared. In control of her breathing again, Carolle said, “I beg your pardon.” She curtsied.
The thin old mage asked, “Omelet is fascinated with you. Why?”
Carolle met the owl’s large black eyes. “I don’t know. He’s cute. Aren’t you, biwt?”
“She,” the grand diviner corrected. He studied Carolle closely, hair to hem. Too closely. Carolle smelled faint smoke on the mage’s robes.
She stepped back into the table, convinced his frigid scrutiny could see her darkest secrets: her deal with Gaines, her thieving, her mam’s whoring, all of it. “Grand Diviner, have you met my friend, Gbad’Wu?”
The mage walked on. His owl’s head turned back to Carolle as they disappeared into the socializing nobles.
Gbad’Wu clicked her tongue. “He treats everyone this way. In his mind, the queen herself wears the stole of a pupil.”
“He has less patience for high lords,” Lord Bernard said behind Carolle. “Trust me on that.” He offered Carolle a delicate glass flute of sparkling wine as Elanis did the same for Gbad’Wu. “Hold on to this for the queen’s announcement.”
Elanis put her hand up for emphasis. “No one has the right to complain more about that man’s carping than a mage raised under his reign in the Tower. I welcome you all to feel sorry for me.”
“He remembers your name,” Gbad’Wu said. “I remain ‘monk.’”
“It’s far worse when he knows your name,” replied Elanis.
Turning to Lord Bernard, Carolle asked, “Where to are you hiding this time? I don’t see a book under your arm.”
He wagged his finger in the air. “Speaking of reading, were you able to start The Jeweler’s Delight?”
“I did, as it goes,” Carolle answered. “Finished it last night. Had a good cry, me. I don’t know how dragons would feel being painted in that light, mind.”
Carolle tapped her fan against Rodinger’s arm. She hadn’t intended to do so. The man glanced down at the gesture, which implied a friendship beyond formality. Surely, it wasn’t too soon or too assuming. Gods, she hoped it wasn’t. “Ah, yes,” he said. “The story was my daughter’s favorite, Carolle.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “You’ve got a daughter? You hadn’t said.”
“Rodinger!” groused a balding man with more lift in his chin than his heels. Gold rings shimmered on his fingers as he prodded Lord Bernard’s belly with his pipe stem. “Rodinger, talk sense into her! This shall ruin us! Make us weak against Virtud Luz!”
Lord Bernard stared down his crooked nose at the man and replied, “I shall do no such thing, Winslow. I quite simply could not be arsed to do so.”
Leaving the lords to their argument, Carolle inserted herself into Elanis and Gbad’Wu’s conversation about extending the monk’s stay in Racine. It stalled when Madame Davies arrived with one of the wine flutes now being served around the ballroom.
Elanis said, “Lady Davies, if you’ve finished your dance, the queen has requested your company.”
The look on the matron’s face said it all as she ogled the flute in her hand.
“There’s to be a toast soon,” Gbad’Wu warned too late.
Gaping at her half-empty glass in horror, Madame Davies gasped, “Oh no!”
Swapping their glasses, Carolle told her, “Don’t worry. I’ll set it right.”
Wetting her lips, Madame Davies held the glass flute over her heart and hesitated. Carolle’s fingers gave her a slight nudge, prompting the plump woman to float over to the dais and dip deeply before the queen.
On her way to the closest servant, Carolle spotted Lucille dancing with Chester. Gaines, however, remained absent. Carolle said to the server, “Afraid I had a spill, I did.”
A snort caught her ear. Lady Leupp wore a new blush cape over her old blush gown in a ring of purple people. Just the sight of the woman made Carolle’s mouth sour. “Clumsy after all,” Lady Leupp said loudly. “Stands to reason. Even a witless dog can perform some tricks.” The women giggled and encouraged her with fluttering fans. More titters and a few passing remarks followed. The second “Patevian” and the first “bitch” baited Carolle.
With fresh bubbly in hand, Carolle faced the women. “I’ll defer to your expertise, Lady Leupp,” Carolle said, sizing up the others. “You appear to enjoy the company of dogs.” One fan fluttered, though the others hid the women’s noses in blatant offense. Lady Leupp squinted a threat.
Carolle returned to Gbad’Wu’s side and clinked her glass to hers.
“You play their game boldly,” Gbad’Wu said.
“Don’t encourage me,” Carolle said. “I’ll go back and punch her just to see if I can hear her bony arse hit the floor through all of those skirts.” She laughed it off. “Ah, no. Madame Davies has instructed me well enough to refrain. A treasure, she is.”
With a harshly shouted syllable, Lord Bernard shocked the shorter lord into silence. Lord Bernard pressed the gawking man back, freeing the space between himself and Carolle. “I urge you to desist and regain your civility,” he said, maintaining his warning scowl. “Lord Winslow Gaines of the Eighth Ring, may I introduce Lady Carolle Ysbryd? I believe she is already acquainted with your son.” The itch of a man barely glanced her way. “Lady Ysbryd is the doyen of the Patevian Royal Dance Troupe that has received high praise for their performance of Elysant on the Glass.”
“Ah, yes. Fine,” Lord Gaines said. If he knew of his son’s endeavors, the man gave nothing away.
Three pops jolted everyone and saved Carolle from a false pleasantry. Silver sparkles sizzled and fell around Grand Diviner Sylvester on the dais. The mage and his owl lowered their limbs in unison. Stepping aside, the grand diviner gave Queen Ameera the floor. Clearly realizing they were now the only three on the dais, Madame Davies froze next to the throne, clenching her glass so hard Carolle feared it might break. The grand diviner flanked the silver dragon wings opposite the matron.
Armored in a silver collar suspending chains of pearls and enameled pink roses, Queen Ameera vised a closed scroll. “My loving people,” she began, “on this special evening, I hold in my hands a gift to you, the very concord of our future, the seed from which our salvation shall grow.
“For hundreds of years, Racine has diligently guarded against Merith’s return. A cause corrupted by many leaders in our past. An excuse to swell Racine’s prosperity on the backs of conquered subjects and their lands. Let it be a source of great humility for us all, including my opponents at this gala, the men you hear muttering ‘harridan,’ opponents of my decision to end the empire.”
The audience murmured more than one slur. Carolle’s troupe had begun to cluster about the ballroom. Their independence had arrived with the civil war and the dissolution of the Racinian Empire five years ago. Gbad’Wu put her arm around Carolle.
Queen Ameera spoke over her subjects. “Victory over ignorance in our short-lived civil war raised us higher in the eyes of nations across Cyr. Racine is the grand sword, the ingenious mage, and the debonair bard. Alas, the mightiest warrior on the battlefield does not embody the spirit of accord we now require. Racine must learn also to be the generous merchant, the wise consul, and the august tower shield.
“We approach a precipice,” Queen Ameera proclaimed. “False histories and entitlements have drawn lines in blood across this continent for nearly seven hundred years. Those petty wars distracted us from a true threat. I speak not of Merith’s resurgence, but the Cloud over the Saratial Sea, fingering deeper into the land each day to feed on towns before it recedes.” Gasps and fans stirred. “Oh, yes. The rumors are real. This evil is real. Contented ignorance has blinded us. Imperiled us. Far too long have we denied the existence of these tribulations, dismissed them as problems facing other nations.
“Racinian pride claims an invulnerability to the rest of Cyr’s woes. No more. May those pompous prevarications never again tarnish your silver tongues. Racine requires allies. We require trust. We require faith to see us through the approaching days.”
Dissenting voices rose loudly enough for Carolle to start making out words. Many blamed the Patevian queen mother. Carolle felt faint. Paler by the second, Madame Davies appeared as though she literally would.
Queen Ameera’s jowls lifted, silencing her subjects. “The comparisons between my father’s decree and my own are inevitable. Yet I assure you, my faithful, my loving people, we shall vanquish the dark forces biding their time behind the Cloud just as assuredly as we shall bury those who stand against us in salted, unmarked graves.
“Your queen’s heart yearns for solidarity. We have gorged on war. We have relished in our enviable wealth. Now we must champion change. Let the lowlanders of Lekelith hear our humble call to amity. Let the Dragoneers’ descendants in Patevia and the tribes of Frysta Avfall raise their voices.” Queen Ameera looked back fondly at Madame Davies, who sank into a curtsy. Carolle subtly fanned the sweat on her brow. “And yes, let the Luzians know Racine shall aid them in their darkest days.”
Grumbling must have reached Queen Ameera’s ears again; she cut her hand through the air. In reclaimed silence, she opened the scroll and turned the inked document to her audience. “Thirty-three nations occupy this grand continent and the Gallaic Sea. Your queen joins King Casdar of Alabon, Queen Ada of Patevia, and King Javier and Queen Valentia of Virtud Luz in extending an invitation to the countries of free men to join in the Bonded Nations. At Racine’s request, Taus and the friendly Caperi occupying the Sliver in Virtud Luz shall also be offered a seat at this communal table. A table of considerable power—yes, to judge our actions and to determine consequences—but also to bring a unified force against our true foes. Humans, piks, mirokar . . . the brave must stand together, for we must supplant our shared evils with open hearts and minds.”
Queen Ameera exchanged the scroll for a flute of wine. She raised her glass their way. “While Alabon and Virtud Luz recruit, our High Lord Bernard shall lend his savoir faire to Racine’s call in the Archipelago and the Warring States.”
Lord Gaines’s grimace shouted betrayal at his superior.
“Unified, we shall triumph!” she concluded.
The queen sipped, watching the crowd as they drank or refused in silence. Madame Davies emptied her glass in one toss. The Tenth Ring lords and ladies, the magi, and those Carolle assumed to represent Racine’s parishes closest to the Cloud applauded with fervor. Queen Ameera retreated from the gala entirely. Elanis followed closely on her heels. Gbad’Wu rubbed Carolle’s back, whispered an apology, and trailed after Elanis.
Where was Gaines? Was this what he had been trying to prevent?
Grand Diviner Sylvester took center stage. Madame Davies stood stupefied on the dais until the grand diviner urged her down with a glare. Murmured discontent and exaggerated gasps drowned out the swelling of the music. Carolle wanted to go to her matron, but Lord Gaines blocked her path.
“You defend her against me,” Lord Gaines said up to Lord Bernard. “First, she takes the military out of our hands and forces a civil war. Then she reduces the first five rings to courtiers, thanes, and delegates to the bumpkins. Now this! Explain the benefit of sharing diplomatic decisions with the Archipelago and the Warring States. The queen mother’s agenda at work! And the Caperi? A barbarous people who are no better than invaders?”
Carolle ground her teeth. She hated Patevia being lumped in with the other islands, as though only together in “the Archipelago” were they significant enough for worldly matters. Lekelith alone had defeated Racine, had it not?
She flinched when Lord Gaines stabbed a stubby finger her way and said, “Certainly even a Patevian can understand her child queen is not ready to make strategic decisions of this magnitude!” If he were waiting for agreement, he got none from Carolle. “Rodinger, reducing Racine’s influence further is foolishness. Idealistic nonsense!”
Looming gravely over the man, Lord Bernard warned, “Careful, Winslow. Your preference for parsimony when defending the races speaks ill of your character. In any event, your expostulation is futile; you have run out of time to convince me otherwise.”
Lord Gaines reddened and scoffed. “We should be tightening our control over the Warring States! Those high-and-mighty Luzians may sway these other Bonded Nations to defy Racine outright. Due to the queen’s hesitation to wed, our enemies in the Alabonian population rival the lowlanders of Lekelith. Combining the two . . .” He tightened his hands into fists. “Disastrous.”
Carolle’s pulse thundered. “There’s cowardly,” she said, surprised to hear the words slip past her lips.
Lord Gaines huffed through his nostrils.
“How much of the gold in your purse came from Patevia’s hills while we suffered centuries of your rule, Lord Winslow Gaines of the Eighth Ring? Enough to buy us a seat in the Bonded Nations, not that we need Racine’s permission anymore.”
Lord Bernard gave her a satisfied tip of his head.
Lord Gaines barked to the nearby nobles, “Idealistic. Naive. Racine was once your empire too, young lady. Can your queen even speak Common?”
Carolle raised her fan in insult and stepped forward to stand over him. She nearly grinned when the man stepped back. “You’d have to hunt high and deep in the Green for one who couldn’t after Racine’s influence, good boy. Grubby miser, you are. Selfish!”
“Carolle Ysbryd!” Madame Davies scolded. Red splotches brightened her cheeks. Her nostrils flared, promising a week of regret to come.
Carolle took a step back and lowered her fan.
Shaking his head, Lord Gaines grumbled, “I may appear coldhearted to you, but I doubt you’d sacrifice Patevia’s standing for Racine’s sake. I cannot be shamed for protecting the interests of my family and my country.” His voice thundered when he addressed Lord Bernard. “Your adulation betrays Racine, Rodinger. We shall speak of this in chambers, where the company is less diluted. We’ve endured enough Patevian influence around here.”
A splayed fan cut off the noble’s curt exit. Lady Leupp beamed an oblivious, toothy smile. “My Lord Gaines, I had hoped to see your son tonight. Has he fallen ill?”
“No,” Lord Gaines answered. “Merely better served hearing of these puerile declamations from the servants. Witnessing them firsthand necessitates too much restraint.”
Lady Leupp’s false laugh spoiled the air with garlic. “Please let young Lord Gaines know I am eager to enjoy his company on the dance floor soon.”
Lord Gaines brushed by her.
Ignoring Carolle, the tall trout dipped for Lord Bernard. “Ludmilla,” he said.
Carolle watched her go and fanned herself evenly while opting for an old-fashioned, blatant sneer. Would someone not marry that woman to spare the rest of them?
Lord Bernard put his hand to Carolle’s back and chuckled. “My dear, when the dance no longer fills your purse, you could give mongoosing a try. In fact, if I may, I encourage you to begin now; for if you seek to strangle every snake in Trône d’Argent, you shall accomplish little else in life.”
His jest didn’t soothe Madame Davies’s temper. Carolle hung her head. “My apologies, my lord, Madame Davies. I fear I’m not good company this evening. The world changes on this hill; I’m meant to view it from afar.”
“Poppywash!” Lord Bernard said. “I am thankful for your words, Carolle. And admire your Madame Davies all the more for her tutelage.” That dampened her matron’s temper a smidgen; at least it relaxed her nostrils. “We lords move borders, when we are fortunate. You move hearts almost nightly. Which do you think changes men’s minds faster?” Not waiting for an answer, he asked Madame Davies, “May I have a moment alone with your ward?”
Confused, and likely concluding Lord Bernard had been Carolle’s wooing lord, Madame Davies hesitantly bowed her head. “Of course, my lord,” she answered. Her scowl relayed the promise Carolle hadn’t been saved from her punishment. Madame Davies strode off toward the circulating bubbly, leaving them relatively alone.
Lord Bernard whispered, “I find myself with the freedom to share a secret. Will you do me the honor of being the first to learn of it? I feel I owe you for getting caught in my argument.”
Carolle’s mind buzzed with insults she wished had come to her in Lord Gaines’s presence, forcing her to provide a rote response. “It would be my pleasure, Lord Bernard.”
“Oh, now,” he said, placing her hand on his forearm and patting it, “if that rapacious runt with iron in his soul can call me Rodinger, you certainly can.”
Her cheeks burned when she recalled she had already established an informal friendship. She ducked her head appreciatively.
“Good,” he said. “Meet me in front of Popplewell’s warehouse on the docks the morning after next. No fans. No frills. No pretenses. Pure, forthright Rodinger. Pure, forthright Carolle.”
Comforted by his gentle nature, Carolle consented with an idea to take their minds off her disgraceful behavior. “On one condition. Dance with me.”
Rodinger spluttered and paled.
“Gbad’Wu left. Blame her, but don’t burden me with finding someone else.”
Worse than Madame Davies, he hemmed and hawed.
Gods, Madame Davies. The matron made no pretenses herself, watching them from across the room, hawk eyed. Carolle needed to douse that flame first. “Please give me just one moment,” she said.
“Of course,” Rodinger agreed. “Go on, now. Move men’s hearts. And do remember, if I’m not here when you return, you’re purer than half of these besotted, deceptive souls. Present company included.”
She playfully gusted him with her fan. “You do wish for me to meet you on the docks?”
Defeated, he slumped like a grouch and acquiesced.
As Carolle made her way to Madame Davies’ pending harangue, her stomach turned against her. The more her mind worked, the less she believed herself to be on the right end of whatever Gaines was sharpening. The young lord had better supply some clear answers soon. Otherwise, she didn’t think she could continue under his employment. Not for Lord Gaines’s benefit. Not for Lord Gaines’s coin.
Where was he?
