cities of Sembia. Cale listened to the quartet for the first time and found that he rather enjoyed the sound. The gentle tones of the instruments and the low murmur of the assembled guests combined to create a sleepy, melodic drone. He allowed himself to drift peacefully on the chords as he continued his search for Thazienne.
He finally spotted her standing near the wall, to the right of the musicians' dais, and she stole his breath. The music and crowd noise fell away. He heard only his heartbeat, be saw only her, and she glittered like a jewel.
Dressed in a jade gown laced with silver thread and a bejeweled silver stomacher, her beauty outshone that of the other women in attendance the way silver
Selune outshone the glowing tears that trailed her orbit through the night sky. A crowd of noble sons surrounded her, talking, smiling, eager to impress.
Even from this distance, Gate recognized the frustrated set of her strong jaw. She hated noble fops and dress balls even more than he, but her mother had insisted she attend. As he watched, she smiled halfheartedly at a young noble's joke and glanced about as though seeking an excuse to escape. Their eyes met. She gave him a quick wave and smiled at him-a smile of genuine happiness. The men around her turned to shoot him envious glares. He bit back his jealousy, returned her wave, and smiled softly in return.
He dared not watch her too long for fear that his feelings would become plain on his face. Shooting her a final longing glance, he returned to his business and tried to locate the rest of the Uskevren family in the hall.
Lady Shamur, glamorous as always hi a long sleeved blue gown with a gold stomacher, sat nearby in lighthearted conversation with Dolera and Meena Foxmantle. To Gale's perceptive eyes, she looked scarcely more comfortable than her daughter-her smiles seemed forced and her slim body looked coiled-but she masked her feelings well. Dutifully, Gale walked over and refreshed the three ladies' wine glasses.
Thank you, Erevis,' said Shamur. She flashed a grateful smile for the interruption and the severity that usually masked her finely chiseled features fell away for a moment. In that instant, Gale caught a rare glimpse of his ladyship's sophisticated beauty. Small wonder that Thazienne had turned out as gorgeous as she had; they could have been sisters.
'Do you require anything else, Lady?'
'No, Erevis. That will be all.'
He bowed, first to Shamur, then to the Foxmantles. 'Lady. Ladies.'
'My,' observed Dolera in her singsong voice as he walked away. 'He is so very tall.'
Gale hurried off without looking back. He would be hard-pressed to keep the impatience out of his voice if the empty-headed Dolera Foxmantle spoke to him. No wonder Lady Uskevren has to force her smiles, he thought with an inner grin.
He spotted Tamlin near the double doors that led to the forehall. The Uskevren heir stood with a half-empty wine bottle in his hand, a smile on his handsome face, and a crowd of young men and women clustered around him. Mostly women, Gale saw. At the edge of that sea of chattering femininity stood Tamlin's huge bodyguard, Vox, watchful and alert as always. The big man's crossed arms rippled with muscle, and even without weapons in evidence he radiated dangerous-ness. Gale watched Tamlin throw back his head in laughter and sprinkle the floor with wine. He frowned at Tamlin's carelessness.
While Gale envied Tamlin's easy grace with women, he despised the young man's lack of discipline. As he saw it, the sole weakness of the household was the Uskevren hen*. Tamlin lacked maturity, lacked judgment, and worst of all, lacked focus. He stuck his hands in whatever took his fancy from day to day, but never took the time to master anything. He needed to learn discipline. Gale would have been willing to teach h?ri-very willing-but he suspected that Tamlin would not enjoy the lessons. Everything had been handed to the young man since boyhood. He had never had to work for anything. If Tamlin was ever forced to fend for himself, he was as likely to survive as an ore in a dwarf hold. Unless something changed, Gale knew, the preeminence of House Uskevren would last only through Thamalon's lifetime.
At that moment, Tamlin looked across the hall 'and met Gale's eyes, caught Cale's disapproving frown, and momentarily lost his own ready smile. Gale looked away quickly, toying to keep the disdain in his expression hidden. As he did so, he caught a dark stare from Vox. The big man was apparently displeased that Gale had so discomfited Tamlin with only a look.
Gale returned that dull-eyed stare unflinchingly and didn't bother to hide his contempt. He knew Vox to be a professional mercenary and no doubt a skilled combatant, but Tymora would take him before he gave ground in his own house. Any time, big man, he thought, any time.
Vox looked away after a final glare, his thick-lipped mouth moving as though muttering to himself, though Gale knew him to be a mute.
Without thinking, Gale began to search the crowd for Talbot, but then remembered that the youngest Uskevren had begged off the celebration and remained at his tallhouse on Alasper Lane. He bit his lip thoughtfully, worried for the boy. He's been begging off a lot of things lately, Gale realized. All since that hunting accident.
Boyhood pranks gone awry were the previous extent of Talbot's troubles-Gale had typically resolved those without even informing Thamalon and Shamur-but the boy was getting old enough now that he might be attracting grown-up sized troubles. Gale knew that if he was in some kind of scrape, he would be afraid to tell anyone- especially his parents.
Ill have to look into that, he resolved. He made a mental scribe to contact Jak and ask the little man to quietly monitor the boy for a lew days.
Satisfied at last that all was in order with the family, he returned his mind to his butler's duties and made one final inspection of the floor staff. Everything seemed in good order, though he tensed when he spotted Larajin wobbling under a tray of empty wine bottles and dishes. His eyes bored nervous holes into her back as she walked unsteadily toward the forehall, but she managed to make it through the doors without incident. Gale followed her across the feasthall and stuck his head into the forehall to assure himself that she had made it to the kitchen without breaking something. She had.
The silence coming from down the hall-rather than the rattle of pans and Brilla the kitchen mistress's shouts- indicated to him that the exhausted cooking staff must have finally settled in to take their own dinner. Cale's growling stomach reminded him that the floor staff, himself included, would eat only after all the guests had gone.
Spotting a nearby wine valet, he walked over and replaced his near empty bottle of Storm Ruby with a fresh bottle of Usk Fine Old-a light, pear wine suitable for late evening-and prepared for what often proved to be his most interesting work during celebrations- information gathering.
Eavesdropping, he chided with a smile. At least call it what it is.
Surveying the hall, he noted the locations of the Old Chauncel patriarchs and planned a route from one to the other. In his time at Stormweather, he had learned that Lord Uskevren's food and drink tended to loosen otherwise tightly reined noble tongues. Especially in t?e presence of a mere servant. With his keen hearing, Gale had overheard innumerable incriminating facts while casually refilling after-dinner drinks. Over the years, he had been able to keep the Righteous Man satisfied with such information-information embarrassing to this or that noble family, but harmless to the Uskevren.
Generally meticulous about his posture, he deliberately slouched when making his rounds. He had found that guests went silent if the keen-eyed, towering butler approached, but did not seem to notice him at all if he shrank in on himself and softened his habitually hard expression.
The best servants are like old furniture, he thought, recalling an old Sembian adage, there when you need them,* but otherwise not to be noticed.
Wearing his best furniture disguise, he wove his way through the crowd. He refilled drinks as he went, casually spoke the praises of Usk Fine Old, and kept his keen ears attuned to nearby conversations. As expected, most was simply the mundane, after-dinner chatter of silly nobles.
'… hear Lady Baerent had taken an interest in the work of a young artist, if you take my meaning,' said Lord Colvith with a laugh.
'… the Boaters sure are a strange lot,' Lord Relen-dar was saying to a plump young woman Gale did not recognize. 'I hear they sacrifice…'
Gale moved along, smiling, filling drinks, listening for anything that might be of use to the Righteous Man or to Thamalon.
In a quiet corner he noticed Thildar Foxmantle- partially drunk as usual-engaged in an earnest conversation with Owyl Thisvin, a fat mage-merchant who worked primarily in the neighboring city of Saer-loon. Thildar's heavy
