Isyllt snorted softly. Perhaps forty people had arrived so far, though the room could hold many more. Conversations buzzed and chattered, mingling with the quiet music. Occasionally laughter rose above the flutes and strings, only to die swiftly. This had none of the festival’s frenetic energy. Gaudy silks and flashing jewels, but the guests were too subdued. She saw the Viceroy among the crowd, his wife and daughter beside him. The tall mage al Najid was there as well, dour as ever.
Asheris made no move to join the conversations and Isyllt was content to lurk, but it wasn’t long till someone noticed them.
“Asheris.” An Assari man approached. “When did you sneak in? And who’s your companion?”
Isyllt fought to keep her face politely blank. The man from the fabric shop, the fox from the festival. Taller than Asheris, but slender and narrower of shoulder; tonight he wore elegantly draped green linen. Gold flashed in his ears and on his long brown hands.
“Isyllt,” said Asheris, “meet Siddir Bashari, of Ta’ashlan. Lord Bashari, this is Lady Iskaldur, of Erisin.” Perfectly polite, but his voice and manner cooled, stiffened. She read a challenge in Siddir’s hazel eyes, one Asheris had no desire to take up.
Siddir bowed over her hand. “So you’re the foreign mage Asheris is protecting.” He made the last word sound like a euphemism for something besides house arrest. “My condolences on the death of your colleague.”
“Thank you.”
He looked as though he might say more, but smiled instead. “Excuse me,” he said, the curl of his lips sharpening as he glanced up at Asheris. “I should finish making my rounds. Perhaps you’ll save me a dance later this evening. Always a pleasure catching up, Asheris.”
She cocked a curious eyebrow at Asheris when Siddir was gone, but he studiously failed to notice. Instead he claimed two cups from a passing servant’s tray and offered her one. The liquid inside was clear and warm-she frowned at the pungent aroma.
“
She took a sip and coughed as the liquor evaporated on her tongue and seared her throat. “I can see why.”
They sipped their drinks, watching the growing crowd. “Are you going to
He waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t mind being kept. Faraj expects me to attend these things, but I don’t have much taste for it tonight.”
The quiet music trailed away, so softly it took a few heartbeats to notice its loss. Conversations faltered and stilled, and a moment later drums rolled.
“The dancing is about to begin,” Asheris said.
The guests retreated to the edges of the room, leaving Faraj alone in the center. “Good evening,” he said, his voice carrying through the vaulted chamber, “and welcome. I’m glad that so many of you could attend tonight, especially after yesterday’s tragedy. In light of recent events, the Khas will be convening early this season. Official notices will go out tomorrow, so try to enjoy yourselves tonight. And if you enjoy yourselves too much, we can always roll you into your session chambers.” Polite laughter rippled and died.
“Our original entertainers are unable to perform tonight-”
“Because they ended up in a canal last night,” Asheris whispered dryly.
“But luckily,” Faraj continued, “the Blue Lotus troupe has agreed to dance for us, accompanied by the Kurun Tam’s own Jodiya al Sarith.” An expectant murmur rose in the crowd.
The drums began a steady throbbing rhythm as Faraj stepped aside. A side door opened and five masked dancers stepped out, two men and three women. Centermost among them was al Najid’s young apprentice. She wore blue, the others green, loose trousers and short snug vests. Scarves trailed from their wrists and Jodiya’s chestnut hair hung loose and shining. Their masks shimmered with sequins and peacock feathers. Flutes and strings joined the drums.
They moved like water, rushing and gliding and rippling. Every motion seemed effortless, seamless as they dipped and twirled and leapt-Isyllt knew how much effort such grace required. All professionals, but Jodiya was the best. But for all their skill it was still choreographed, just a performance, with none of the wild celebration of the dancers in the street.
The music ended with a flurry of drums like thunder and rain and the dancers sank to their knees, faces upturned, masks discarded. Applause filled the hall; as soon as it quieted, a lively dance tune began and guests crowded the floor. A woman took Asheris’s arm and he followed her, giving Isyllt a rueful glance.
She retreated from the press, exchanging her empty cup for a goblet from a sideboard. A Chassut red, the sort of vintage that sold for griffins in Erisin. One of the privileges of Imperialism, she thought, rolling herbs and tannin across her tongue.
“Good evening, Lady.” She looked up to find Siddir smiling at her. He claimed a cup of wine and stood beside her. “I’m still waiting for the explosion.”
“It’s early yet. I’ve always thought explosions would enliven most government parties.”
He chuckled, his eyes on the dancers. His curls were oiled, but stray strands frizzed in the humidity. Beneath the wine, he smelled of amber and spices.
“You certainly seem to find trouble, my lady.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps I’m a storm-crow.”
“Storm-crow, or spy.”
“An interesting accusation, my lord.” She sipped her wine, wishing now for something stronger.
“Not an accusation, simply an observation. A foreign sorcerer with a knack for being at interesting places at interesting times. And I’ve heard of your master and his role in Selafain politics. What in Sivahra interests Lord Orfion?”
Before she could answer, a Sivahri matron dripping silk and jeweled bangles slipped free of the crowd and seized Siddir’s hand.
“Lord Bashari, how wonderful to see you.”
“Good evening, Madam Irezh.”
“My daughter is here tonight, the one I’ve told you about. I must introduce you.” She glanced at Isyllt then and blinked.
“Go on,” Isyllt told him sweetly. “I’m sure we can talk later.”
When they were gone she finished her wine and set the goblet aside, stopping herself when she nearly reached for another. Getting drunk wouldn’t help, no matter how pleasant it sounded. As soon as she got home she would buy a bottle and charge it to the expense account.
She retreated farther from the crowd and lights, looking for Asheris’s dark head above the crowd. After a moment, she spotted him.
Jodiya had steered him away from the dance, into the shadow of a column near the dais. She slipped one hand beneath his jacket and the other rose to his jeweled collar. He didn’t touch her, not even to push her away, but Isyllt could see the tension trembling through him from yards away. The girl tilted her face to kiss him and his lips blanched.
It was none of her business, and Asheris doubtless knew how to close his eyes and think of the Empire.
But his hands shook like frightened birds and she couldn’t walk away.
Isyllt moved toward them, tugging her gloves off. “Excuse me,” she said too sweetly, leaning close. “May I steal Asheris for a dance?” She reached out her left hand, the diamond leaking bitter chill. Jodiya recoiled just in time to keep Isyllt from touching her shoulder.
“Of course.” She recovered quickly, but her smile was brittle, kohl-darkened eyes narrow. A stray sequin flashed on her cheekbone. Blue silk hissed as she strode away. Brazen for an apprentice-what other services did she perform for the Kurun Tam, or for the Empire?
“Am I interrupting?” Isyllt tucked her gloves into a skirt pocket, shaking her hands lightly to dry her palms.
“Yes, and I thank you for it.” Asheris laid a hand against her waist, the heat of his flesh soaking through cloth and stays. “Your timing is wonderful.” She could still feel his tension as he took her hand, but the tightness in his jaw eased.
