Chapter Two
If one wishes to survive in the Rosian royal court, one must first understand the external politics that drive events in the world of Aeronne. The kingdoms of Bruond and Bheldem both lack internal cohesion and ambition and are currently no threat to anyone. Guundar produces the finest soldiers in Aeronne, willing to work for anyone with the correct amount of gold, mainly because there is no gold for them at home. Travia, home of the Trade Cartel, is an economic powerhouse, yet her small size makes her dependent on others for defense. Estara, birthplace of the Church of the Breath, could be a power in her own right, but has always been overshadowed by Freya and Rosia and sulks over her lowly status. Freya, the second most powerful nation in the world, has fostered an ancient hatred for Rosia, the first most powerful; a hatred that, as one can see from the bloodstained history of these two nations, is most happily and cheerfully returned.
THE NEXT DAY, STEPHANO ROSE AT HIS USUAL TIME. He ate breakfast, ran through his daily fencing practice, washed, and dressed. Hearing the sound of the carriage arriving at the door, he shouted to Benoit that he was leaving and descended the stairs that led to the main entryway. Stephano cast an uncaring glance at himself in the mirror, put on his hat (which he noted had been brushed, the brown plume fluffed up a bit) and was almost ready to go out the front door when Rodrigo opened it and walked inside.
“I was just on my way to join you at the palace,” said Stephano. “I thought you were ‘visiting a friend.’ ”
Rodrigo regarded Stephano’s green breeches, which were tied below the knee, his dark green stockings, light green waistcoat, and dark green coat, lacking adornment, with frowning disapproval.
“I thought I might find you in this state. One reason I returned early. We are attending court, not storming the battlements at Vertin. Benoit!”
“I wash my hands of him, sir!” came the querulous response from the kitchen.
“Back to the dressing room,” said Rodrigo, placing his hand on Stephano’s shoulder and shoving him toward the stairs.
Seeing Stephano’s rebellious look, Rodrigo added briskly, “Pays well, on time.”
“You’ll find his court clothes laid out on the bed, sir!” Benoit called from below.
Stephano heaved a sigh and allowed himself to be propelled up to his dressing room. “I’m only doing this for Miri and the others, Rigo. If it were up to me, I’d starve before I went groveling to my mother.”
Once Stephano was properly attired, Rodrigo inspected him. “The sleeves are frayed at the cuffs. The coat is at least two years out of fashion, but the material is of the finest quality and the style is classic, so I am not completely ashamed to be seen at court with you. Let me tie your cravat.”
With a suffering air, Stephano let his friend tie the white cravat, edged with a hint of lace, around his throat, and regarded himself in the mirror. He privately conceded that he did look good. The knee-length silver-trimmed coat was fitted at the waist, and powder blue in color with turned back cuffs that showed the lace-edged sleeves of his white shirt. His waistcoat was of blue-and-green brocade. He wore breeches of the same blue color tied with ribbons below the knee, white stockings, and black shoes. His rapier hung from an embroidered baldric draped over his shoulder.
Stephano steadfastly refused to wear the powdered wigs then fashionable in the royal court. His sandy-blond, shoulder-length hair was tied at the back of his neck with a blue ribbon. He was clean-shaven, a task he performed himself, given that Benoit’s hands were too shaky these days to be trusted with a razor. Stephano’s blue eyes were changeable, becoming gray with anger or determination. He was of medium height with the light-muscled, fine- boned build of a Dragon Knight and an upright military bearing. His face tended to be stern and unsmiling, except when he was around his friends, at which time he would relax and lower his guard.
Rodrigo draped his arm around his friend’s shoulder and regarded the two of them in the mirror.
Unlike Stephano, Rodrigo was dressed in the latest fashion. His long, fitted coat was mauve, decorated with gold buttons and golden embroidery. His deep cuffs were a darker mulberry. His shirt was dripping with lace, and he wore a lace collar. His stockings were white. He also did not wear a wig, preferring to show off the brown curls that framed his face. Women termed his brown eyes “melting.” His face was long, his chin slightly pointed. His mouth quirked with fun and good humor. He was hopeless with a rapier and terrifying to his friends with firearms. His tongue was his weapon, he liked to say.
Rigo-as he was known-was thirty-three, and he and Stephano had been firm friends from childhood, despite their contrasting natures. Stephano was energetic, resolute, disciplined (except when it came to money). Rodrigo was indolent, vacillating, with not an ounce of self-discipline (except when it came to money).
Rodrigo was also a brilliant crafter and could have risen to the top of that profession, but he had studied magic only sporadically, dabbling in what interested him and forgoing the rest. Consequently, he had been thrown out of the University, to the dismay of his parents, who, however, continued to dote on him. He was the spoiled third son, with no income other than what he earned with the Cadre of the Lost and a modest stipend from his parents. Rodrigo was most at home in drawing rooms and salons. He knew everyone in court, knew the gossip about all of them, and he acquired most of the Cadre’s jobs.
Rodrigo smiled. “You would never know I was forced to pawn your dress sword to pay for the carriage.”
“You did what?” Stephano demanded, rounding on his friend. “My sword with the gold basket hilt? That was a gift-”
“And we will get it back from the pawn shop,” said Rodrigo soothingly. “Just mention to the countess that you could use an advance on payment, will you?”
“I haven’t agreed to take this job yet,” said Stephano angrily. He snatched his best tricorn hat, which was the current fashion, since it could be folded and tucked under the arm, and stomped down the stairs.
Benoit was there to see them off. The old man smiled to see Stephano and a wistful look came into the weak eyes. “I wish your father could see you, sir. You do him proud.”
“He wouldn’t be proud of the fact that I’m selling my soul to the king,” Stephano muttered.
“He would, sir,” said Benoit stoutly. “Your father, Lord Julian, God rest him, was a practical man.”
“My father wasn’t practical at all, you know,” said Stephano somberly to Rodrigo, as they entered the carriage. “Julian de Guichen was a man who sacrificed his wealth, his lands, and eventually his life for a hopeless cause, all in the name of honor and loyalty and friendship.”
“The apple did not fall far from the tree,” observed Rodrigo.
“Don’t try flattering me,” said Stephano, glowering. “It won’t work.”
“Take the rest of the day off, Benoit,” Rodrigo called out the carriage window before shutting it. “We will dine out.”
Rodrigo told the driver their destination and shut the carriage door. The driver nodded his head at his boy, who released the mooring line that secured the carriage to the ground, then took his place at the rear. The wyvern was harnessed to the carriage by long tethers attached to breast and shoulders. Magic used in the construction of the carriage added strength to the thin wooden walls while keeping the weight as low as possible. Internal reservoirs or “lift tanks” held the refined and purified “Breath of God” that provided much of the vehicle’s buoyancy, with a balloon for additional lift.
The balloon was red in color, the carriage blue. One could always tell a rented carriage by the red balloons. The driver, mounted on the seat in front of the carriage, began channeling the magical energy that existed naturally in the world into a brass control panel. A series of constructs, set into the brass itself, allowed the driver control over the levels of buoyancy in the two primary lift tanks located on either side of the carriage, and the forward and rear stabilizing tanks. From the brass panel, the driver could also control the large multichambered red balloon tethered to the top of carriage.
The carriage’s passenger compartment could seat four comfortably. The leaded glass windows were covered with lace curtains to provide the occupants a degree of privacy. The blue-lacquered exterior was waxed till it shone and was set off by polished brass fixtures and lanterns.
When the carriage was clear of the ground, the driver gave three short tweets from a whistle, letting anyone nearby know that they were preparing to leave. Next, he clucked at the wyvern and poked the creature in the back
