servants stood outside. “Yes?” I said.
“A runner brought this for you, sir.” He held out a small white envelope.
“For me? Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
I motioned him forward. Who would be sending me messages here? It had to be our father. At least, I hoped so.
I took the message, waved him off, and returned to the desk.
Behind me, the man cleared his throat. I glanced at him.
“The messenger is waiting for your reply,” he said.
“He can wait a few minutes more. Find Lord Aber and ask him to join me here, please. Tell him it's important.”
“Yes, Lord.” He bowed, then hurried out.
I stared down at the letter. The front said simply “Oberon” in careful script. When I turned it over, I found nothing more than a blob of dark red wax stamped by a seal in the shape of a griffin.
I broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Six lines of the most intricate and flowery penmanship I had ever seen cordially invited me to dine with Lord and Lady Ethshell the following night.
I turned the paper over, but that was it. Brief, to the point, no wasted words.
But… why me? I had never even heard of Lord Ethshell. Why should they invite me, of all people, to join them?
Aber rapped on the doorframe. “What is it?” he said, and swept in without being asked.
I held out the letter. He read it and gave a small, “Hmm.”
“Is that good or bad?” I said.
“Oh, it's good. Very good. You must go, by all means.”
“Why?”
“Because, dear brother, they want to take your measure.” He gave an evil smile. “Unless I'm mistaken, they just received the invitation to Aunt Lan's engagement party tonight. Since their eldest daughter Honoria is still without a husband, and you are, shall we say, husbandly material…”
“But I'm engaged to Braxara.”
“That's never stopped true love before.”
Now it was my turn to “Hmm.” I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that. We had so much going on—so many people trying to kill us, or worse—that I didn't want parents flinging their eligible daughters at me.
“You can bring me along,” he told me, “as chaperone.”
“Maybe she'd prefer your hand, since I'm spoken for.”
“I've already been considered, and rejected, as unsuitable husbandly material. Too artistic, I fear. The Ethshells have a strong military tradition.”
I looked at the invitation again. “It doesn't say anything about bringing a guest.”
“It will be fine. Dad should be the one going with you, but in his absence, any male family member will do.”
He took a piece of paper, wrote a brief reply, folded it up, and dribbled a bit of wax on it. Then he motioned for the servant who'd brought the message to approach.
“Here is our reply,” he said.
“Very good, sir.” He bowed and left.
The moment he was outside, Port closed himself. I turned to Aber.
“What's she like?”
“Honoria? Oh… she's hard to describe.”
“Try.”
“Two or three extra eyes, half a dozen arms, red hair, and very well rounded. Quite a… woman, I guess you'd say.”
“Red hair?” I raised my eyebrows. Some of my favorite lovers had been redheads.
“That's right. Very red, very long, very thick, and all over her body.” He chuckled at my expression. “Well, as much of her body as I've ever seen. I can only imagine the rest.”
“This does not,” I said, “sound promising.”
“Dinner will be a small but traditionally formal affair with the Ethshells. No more than twenty people. I'm sure you'll impress them all.”
“Traditionally formal? I'll guess that means fancy clothes, boring speeches, and pretentious old men and their wives?”
“You've dined with them before?”
I sighed. “With their counterparts in Ilerium, anyway.”
“You'll see,” he said with an encouraging nod, “the food alone will be worth the trip. Now, though, we have to get you cleaned up for Aunt Lan's party.”
I tried on outfit after outfit, assisted by Horace and Aber. My brother kept summoning fancier garments using the Logrus, and each time I thought I looked magnificent, he would shake his head and try again. Fancy collars, shoes like golden hooves, hats of impossibly complex design—I tried them all on, then tore them all off. The stack of discarded silks, leather, and frilled lace grew high on top of my bed.
When I finally stood back and regarded myself in a looking glass, I had a hard time keeping from laughing. My final costume seemed ludicrous. Crimson leggings, a heavily ruffled red shirt with sleeves that puffed out like over-ripe melons, and a jaunty cap with long flowing red feathers that trailed down behind—I had never seen anything so outlandish in my life.
The sad thing was, Aber took it entirely too seriously. He adorned himself in dark blue, though his shirt had splashes of gold at the sleeves. His hat's feathers were longer and more spectacular than my own—not that I objected, of course.
I studied my reflection in the looking glass. Not bad, I finally decided. Once you got used to the puffiness and color, everything fit me well and flattered my appearance.
“If Helda could see me now,” I murmured.
“What did you say?” Aber asked from across the room. He brought my swordbelt over.
“You're absolutely certain,” I said for what must have been the tenth time, “that everyone will be dressed like this?”
“Of course.”
By tradition, according to Aber, I could not arrive via Trump. I had to ride to Aunt Lanara's house in an open carriage, emerge in grand style, walk up the steps through a multitude of well-wishers, and finally enter the grand hall. There, a feast in my honor would commence, followed by dancing and entertainments into the small hours. I would get my first look at Braxara over dinner, when her father offered up a toast in our honor.
“Aunt Lan's parties are notorious for their excesses,” Aber told me. “Everyone important will be there. Perhaps even King Uthor himself.”
“What about Dad?”
He frowned. “He should be there. Everyone will talk about it if he isn't. Want to try his Trump again?”
I shrugged. “I suppose I'd better. Even if he doesn't show up, he ought to know what's going on.”
He brought our father's Trump to me, and I concentrated on it. It took a long time, but finally his image began to stir, as if he were far away. A misty, blurry image came into view—Dad, with a dense forest of pine trees behind him.
“What is it?” he snapped at me.
“We were worried about you,” I said. “The audience with King Uthor“
“Never took place,” he finished. “Forget about it. There are more important things happening. I will be back in a day or two. Guard your backs until then; our enemies are moving fast.”
Suddenly he was gone. I never had a chance to tell him about the serpent scrying on me, the lightning attack, Rhalla being sent to assassinate me, or my engagement to Braxara. Moving fast, indeed!
I repeated what Dad has said to my brother.
“Very curious.” Aber's brow furrowed.
“Very,” I agreed.
