green grass of the lawn surrounding it. The large windows were all glass, the front drive was paved with a mosaic of a seashell, and though it was barely five in the evening, all the torches were already lit.
They were hardly the first to arrive. There were five carriages already waiting on the drive and a dozen more pulled around by the stables. Miranda was the first one out when the footman opened their door, pulling her absurdly large skirts along with her and cursing her mother for every one of the frilly petticoats the woman had made her wear. The tiny pointed heels of her too-small shoes sank into the soft grass, making walking difficult. She was getting ready to kick them off altogether when a man’s voice cut through her black thoughts of shoe destruction.
“Lady Lyonette?”
Miranda looked up to see a man standing just a few feet away. He was dressed far too nicely to be a servant, but he didn’t have that effortless snobbery of a noble. He was tall but not handsome, though not ugly either. He mostly looked put-upon and bored, like he’d rather be doing anything else besides standing here, though he did manage a smile at her.
“Miranda!” Her mother cried as she came out next. “Where are your manners?”
“I have no idea,” Miranda muttered, looking back at the man. “Who are you, sir?”
Her mother gasped a little, but the man didn’t seem fazed at all. “Martin Hapter,” he said, putting out his hand.
Miranda shook it with wary curiosity. It was customary for a host to greet his guests, but they usually did it inside, not by coming out and stalking the carriages. Still, he’d done nothing to upset her yet, unlike her family, so there was no reason to be rude.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Hapter,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. “I am Spiritualist Miranda Lyonette of the Spirit Court.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Spiritualist?”
Miranda smirked. Her parents must have neglected to mention that tidbit. Her mother was certainly turning a nice, splotchy shade of pink.
“Miranda is a wizard, sir,” she said at last, moving to stand beside her daughter. “Knowing nothing of wizardry, we thought it best to let the Spiritualists teach her.”
“Teaching doesn’t mean taking oaths,” Martin said, looking Miranda up and down. “You’re sworn, then?”
“I am,” Miranda said, holding out her gold ring so he could see.
Martin didn’t even look, but his polite smile fell to a distracted frown, like he was doing math in his head. “I suppose it makes no difference,” he said at last. “Why don’t you come inside?”
Their carriage was blocking the way, so the whole Lyonette family piled out and followed their host into his enormous house. A head of the family and the highest ranking noble, Lord Simon should have walked first, but Martin led the way, and Miranda walked beside him when her mother wouldn’t let her walk anywhere else. Miranda didn’t pay much attention to that after the initial shock, though. She was too busy gaping at the house.
It really was like a palace. Every inch of it was a work of art. Antiques and collectibles from all over the world were arranged to their best advantage throughout the rooms. The lamps hung from enormous rings of antlers cut from animals she’d never seen before. The paintings on the walls were from a broad variety of styles and schools, and the floor alternated between polished stone and some kind of yellow wood she didn’t recognize. Every room was painted a different color, and through the windows Miranda could see a garden filled with plants she couldn’t even name.
“Your house is very impressive,” she said after they’d walked through the third room that would have been at home in a king’s treasury.
“Thank you,” Martin said. “Our company deals mostly in metals and timber, both of which have been booming since the Council lifted the tariffs. We have offices all over, and most of my year is spent traveling among them. I try to bring things back from wherever I visit, but since I’m gone so often, this house is more of a museum than anything else.”
“You’re in trade?” Miranda regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth. She sounded as snobby as Alyssa, but she just couldn’t believe her parents would go to a party thrown by a tradesman. Her mother didn’t even answer letters from anyone who couldn’t prove at least three generations of noble blood.
“Yes,” Martin said, glancing at her. “Does that bother you?”
“No,” Miranda said. “I think it’s very impressive.” Always nice to find someone with money who’d actually earned it. Nice, and rare, though getting less rare as the Council’s influence grew.
Martin left them in the ballroom, which had more windows than walls and looked large enough to act as a formation field for an army. There were close to a hundred other guests there already, and Miranda was starting to worry where they would all sleep when she caught sight of a beloved figure in the crowd.
“Tima!” she cried, louder than she’d meant. Across the room, a beautiful blonde woman looked up and smiled indulgently as Miranda ran over and enveloped her in a huge hug. Trintima was her older sister and the only member of her family Miranda actually liked. Tima might look just like their mother, but her graceful-lady routine wasn’t an act.
“Miranda,” Tima said, looking her sister up and down when they finally broke apart. “You’re looking well.”
“Don’t let Mother hear you say that,” Miranda said. “How have you been? Mother said you got married.” Actually, Tima’s marriage had been the only thing Alma had talked about all the way through lunch and into the carriage. Tima, with her gentle manners and lovely looks, had married into the Whitefall family, a great triumph for minor nobility like the Lyonettes. Of course, Alma was distressed that Tima’s husband was only a second cousin to the Merchant Prince, but a Whitefall was a Whitefall. They had to be good for something eventually.
“Yes,” Tima said. “He couldn’t come, but he sends his love. He wanted to meet you.”
Miranda found that hard to believe, but she was willing to let it lie for Tima’s sake. “I’m sorry I missed the wedding.” No one had bothered to tell her about it, but Miranda wasn’t going to bring that up, either. “I’m so glad you’re here. If I had to live through four days of this with no one but Alyssa and our parents, I think I might actually go crazy.”
Tima glanced over her shoulder at their youngest sister, who was standing at the center of a growing circle of admirers. “Alyssa’s energy can be tiring,” Tima said in that gentle way of hers.
“Alyssa is tiring,” Miranda corrected. “She’s a spoiled flirt and a featherbrain.”
“Now, now,” Tima chided, but she was smiling. “Don’t you like the house?” she asked, deftly changing the subject.
“It’s certainly impressive,” Miranda answered. “Especially for being this close to Zarin.”
“Mr. Hapter’s family has been very fortunate,” Tima said. “He’s one of the richest men in Council.”
“Which explains how a man in trade managed to get all these Zarin blue bloods to come visit his little museum,” Miranda said, snagging a cup of punch from one of the passing waiters. “Poor Hapter. He can dazzle this crowd with money all he likes, but unless he suddenly uncovers a noble relative, all he’ll ever be is an oddity so far as the Zarin nobility is concerned. They’re snobs to the bone.”
“Miranda!” Tima gasped, looking around to see if anyone had overheard.
Miranda just shrugged and drank her punch. It was the truth, and she wasn’t here to be polite. At least the punch was good.
Around this point, the servants brought in card tables, and the crowd began to break into teams. Since the Lyonette family was five, that left an odd player, but Miranda was more than happy to duck out. Card playing was one of those noble time wasters she’d never understood. Honestly, the whole concept of wasting time for pleasure struck her as stupid. Why would you ever want to waste something that you never had enough of? Of course, this whole trip was a waste of time, so far as she was concerned.
But the card game would keep her mother off her back for at least the next hour. That was a gift in itself, and one Miranda was determined not to waste. She was about to sneak off and find something constructive to do, like letting Eril out to work with him on control for a bit, when a voice spoke right beside her.
“Don’t care for cards?”
Miranda managed to keep from jumping at the last second. She turned to see Martin Hapter standing at her side, looking out over his guests like a foreman surveying his crew.
