Brightly Burning

Court meals were slow and deliberate affairs, with each course punctuated and announced by musicians or other entertainments. This was part of what made coming to Court such an exciting and much-anticipated event for the nobles and achievers of Valdemar; even the meals were grand affairs for those who didn't often see professional entertainers. And as for major festivals—well, when those who spent a season or two at Court went home again, they generally talked about it for the rest of their lives.

It was costly for those who came here, in expenses for the elaborate garments considered appropriate, in lodging, and in any meals not taken in the Great Hall. Some, but by no means all, of the highborn had their own houses outside the Palace grounds, and a very few rated lodging in the Palace itself, but for the rest, suitable houses had to be found and leased, servants hired, and furnishings supplied for the few months of attendance at Court. This was an expensive proposition, multiplied manyfold when there was more than one female in the family, for women seemed to require more in the way of elaborate clothing than men.

For instance... to Pol's right sat the many-daughtered Lord Vertalays, with all of his offspring lined up on their stools beside him, like one of those sets of dolls that fit one inside the other. It was a good thing that he had a ready source of income from his wool and mutton; he'd need it, dowering six daughters. Lady Vertalays, a wise and clever woman, made a virtue out of necessity; she saved money when they came to Court by doing so in winter when she could cut a fashionable figure in woolen garments, rather than of lighter fabrics that would have to be purchased. She had all their Court dress made from cloth woven of the wool of their own sheep, and dressed the entire family in the same colors, saving more money on dyes, carefully choosing colors that suited them all. When she could, she did without dying the cloth altogether; they had a set of garments in white, in a heathered gray, in brown, and in black. Instead of velvet, their heavier gear was made of wool plush—an equally lush fabric, but one that could also be home-woven. Instead of silk, they wore knitted lace, made of threadlike yarn of lambswool. All the embroidery was done by the clever hands of the Lady and her daughters, and together they made quite a fine showing. Pol might be the only person present who knew of her clever shifts, since he had once ridden a circuit that included their holdings. They came to Court for the purpose of getting the daughters acquainted with some of the young men they might be betrothed to one day. The Lady felt it was better to wed someone you at least liked rather than a total stranger.

That was more than many parents felt. To Pol's left was a potential source of trouble, and he wondered when it would break out. Young Lady Leana's rigid posture betrayed what her pleasant face did not; the contempt that her husband of a year held her in. He was engaged in a torrid affair with someone out in the city; Pol didn't know who it was, although he would bet his last penny that the King's Own did. She seethed with frustration and jealousy, and from some of the heated glances he'd seen her exchange with one of the young rakes of the lesser nobility, her frustration was likely to break out into a fullblown affair of her own very soon. She would probably flaunt her conquest in her husband's face; a bad idea, since he was hot-tempered as well as hot-blooded, and altogether too likely to either punish his wife or challenge her lover.

Probably both.

That would have repercussions of its own, since the marriage was a political one. Pol didn't envy the King; he'd have to sort it all out, somehow.

A more amusing feud was currently on display on the persons of Lady Isend and Duchess Abel; if they piled on much more in the way of jewelry and begemmed trimmings to their gowns, they might not be able to get up again if they fell over. Each of the ladies considered herself the sole authority on fashion, and spent most of her time trying to outdo her rival. The previous manifestation of the feud had been hats; tall, pointy ones, dripping veils and gold chains, which imperiled everyone around them and forced them to walk with a peculiar, backward-bent posture with the stomach thrust out. That had ended when someone new to Court had kindly inquired when they were expecting their babes to be born.

At least the feud had taken a useful turn this past summer, erupting in gowns made of the thinnest, gauziest possible materials—costly, of course, since that meant gossamer linen and silk, and each gown had to be made of three or more layers if the lady who wore one didn't want to reveal every possible bodily secret to the world. Gauze was cool, comfortable, and looked particularly lovely on slim, young bodies; that inspired the other ladies to copy them. Perhaps not every lady looked as ethereal and graceful in such gowns as the youngest and most lithe of the maidens, but at least they were all comfortable and less quarrelsome with the heat.

Anything that made the ladies of the Court less quarrelsome was worth a few less-than-lovely sights, in Pol's opinion.

He detected no other problems during the course of the meal, and when the sweets came around, he caught the eye of King's Own Herald Jedin and made a brief, but significant nod of his head towards Lady Leana. Jedin nodded, and shrugged a little. The interchange hadn't taken more than a few seconds, but Pol was satisfied that Jedin was aware of the situation. Jedin could always come talk to him later, if need be.

That was all he could do for now, and since he didn't particularly care for sweets, he excused himself to his fellow Heralds, and with a bow to the King, withdrew from the Hall.

As soon as he left the Palace and got into the Collegium, he cocked an ear toward the Collegium dining hall. A subdued hum came from it, indicating that the Trainees were still stuffing their growing bodies; for all of the formality of Court meals, the Trainees took as long or longer to eat than the courtiers, for they devoured a prodigious amount of food.

:Satiran, old friend, can you give me a bit of a boost while I look for those traces I touched last night?: he asked as he opened the door to his room. Servants had already been and gone; the fire had been refreshed, and the lamps lit. Pol hoped that tonight none of the youngsters would decide to have an emotional crisis. It would be nice to spend a peaceful evening for a change.

:Emotional crisis is the constant state of the young, Chosen,: Satiran chuckled. :That's why they can eat so much; they burn it up with emoting. Of course I can give you a boost. I'm as curious as you.:

Pol laughed a little, settling into his favorite chair and focusing his gaze on one of the lamp flames to bring himself easily and automatically into a trance, where it would be easier to work.

One by one, he called up his own Gifts, bringing them up like tiny flames within his mind, and searched within his limited range for an answering echo.

Even though the many Gifts that he knew had not resembled this odd one, he tried them anyway. It did no harm, and might awaken echoes from another nascent talent out there in his city.

One by one, he worked his way through them all, down to the most obscure, the kind of Gift that allowed one to see the living energy produced by even the humblest of creatures.

Nothing. Not so much as a hint. Whatever it was that had awakened him out of his sleep last night, it did not answer his call tonight.