'My partner and spouse, Darkwind k'Sheyna, is an Adept; his people do not have any equivalent titles specifying nobility,' she continued, 'But we judged his status as a mage to be significant in place of a title.'
Tremane nodded, released her hand, and took Darkwind's. The two men gazed measuringly into one another's eyes before releasing their grips.
'I am very pleased to meet you both at last, and I would deem it an honor if you would dispense with titles and simply refer to me as 'Tremane,' as my people in my home lands did,' the Grand Duke replied, softening his formal manner with a slight smile. 'Would you take a seat? I fear you will find my fare somewhat plain, but these are not the times for overindulging.'
It was Darkwind who replied, as he held out a chair for Elspeth. 'I could not agree more, Tremane,' he said. 'But it does appear that the folk under your command are prospering better than most in Hardorn.'
Tremane waited until both of them were seated before he took his own chair. 'That is as much a matter of luck as anything else,' he replied. 'Luck, in that we have one resource that Hardorn lacks—manpower. There is enough to be scavenged if you have enough able-bodied men.'
Tremane's aide offered Elspeth a simple dish of vegetables baked with cheese, and she nodded in acceptance. As he finished spooning a portion onto her plate and turned to Darkwind, she took up the conversation. 'Nevertheless, you have impressed those natives here who live within your sphere of influence.'
Tremane took a sip of his wine. 'One of the virtues of the Empire is that its leaders are well-trained,' he said, after a moment. 'Its vices are many, but it is well-governed. At the best of times, its citizens had little to complain of.'
'And at the worst?' Darkwind asked bluntly.
Tremane bowed his head for a moment. 'So much power is easily abused,' he said finally, and applied himself to his food, ending the conversation for the moment.
When it resumed, they spoke of inconsequential things. Tremane was a decent conversationalist, though not a brilliant one. He was
When they bid their host a cordial, if guarded, good night, Elspeth knew only one thing for certain.
Grand Duke Tremane was a man who kept his own council, and it would be difficult to penetrate the walls he had built about himself. He would clearly protect his honor by maintaining silence at judicious times, and practicing deflection when possible. Anyone who attempted to divine this complex man's deeper motives would find themselves with a nearly impossible task, yet that was precisely the task Elspeth and Darkwind faced.
Three
Emperor Charliss sat enrobed in his heavy velvets of State, amid the grim splendor of the panoply surrounding his Iron Throne. He endured the burden of the Wolf Crown pressing down upon his brow, ignored the content of the peoples' chatter, and watched his courtiers vainly attempt to conceal their jittery nerves.
Outwardly, this Court was like any other, except in degree. Gossip, flirtations, negotiations, assignations, betrayals, confidences—the highborn, ranked and wealthy, all danced their dances just as they had for years, as their fathers' had, and as their grandfathers had. Over the years their forms of jockeying and presentation had gone from custom to manners to mannerism, tempered by fashion and fear. Today, each attempted to hold their clothing and their overly expensive accessories in their practiced ways, but their true state showed in their stilted movements, the nervous glances toward his dais, and in the faintly hysterical edge to their voices as they murmured to one another. His Court had always been noted for flamboyance of dress, but fewer and fewer of his courtiers were taking the time and care needed for truly opulent displays, which showed more clearly than any other outward signs that their minds and energies were directed elsewhere. They were afraid, and people who were afraid did not concern themselves with inventing a new fashion or impressing an enemy with their wealth.
Below the dais, people milled in the patterns dictated by rank and custom, but he was acutely aware of the holes in the patterns. The Court itself held little more than half the usual number of attendees. How could it be otherwise? Those who could leave for their estates already had, despite the fact that the Season was well underway.
This was wildly contrary to custom; no one who pretended to power or importance left the Court in winter. Summer was the time when the highborn of the Empire retired to their estates, not winter. Winter, that time of the year when snow and ice barricaded the isolated estates, one from the other, was the time to take one's place at Court and engage in revelry and endless intrigue, while one's underlings dealt with the tedium of estate caretaking, and become immersed in the round of social intercourse known as the Season. Those with youngsters to marry off brought them here to display them to the parents of other youngsters or potential older spouses. Those who wanted power jockeyed for position; those who had it campaigned to keep it. Those who pursued pleasure came here to pursue it. Only the impossibly dull, preoccupied, or solitary remained in their homes during the Season.
But not this winter.
