“Count Tomasso,” Tristan acknowledged simply. The count again focused his eyes on Shailiha.
“I trust your dance card is not yet filled?” he asked. “It would be such a shame to come so far, only to be denied.”
Shailiha knew she could afford a revealing smile, as long as it was safely hidden behind her mask. Reaching to the floor, she retrieved her dance card and a quill. She handed them to the count.
“I believe there might be one or two left,” she answered, trying her best to sound nonchalant. “You’ll have to see for yourself.”
The count glanced at the card. “One only,” he answered happily. “The last one, as it happens. I will be looking forward to it.” After writing his name on the card, he handed it back to the princess.
“Until then,” he said.
Working his way down the receiving line, he stopped to politely recognize the other Conclave members. Snorting out another soft laugh, Tristan looked over at his sister.
“You’ll have to see for yourself?”he chided her. “With such a wonderful come-hither attitude as that, I’m surprised there’s a man in the entire place who wants to dance with you!”
Shailiha smiled from behind her mask, then promptly shoved one elbow into the prince’s ribs. He winced.
“I must be doing something right,” she teased right back. “My dance card is full, but yours is empty. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
“It tells me that things are just as I want them,” he answered. There had come a welcome lull in the receiving line. Taking another sip of wine, he cast his dark eyes back toward the spectacular scene.
“By the way,” he asked, “where’s Tyranny? It’s not like her to be late.”
Shailiha pointed toward the twirling dancers. “She’s down there, somewhere,” she answered, “and whirling madly, no doubt. It seems she has been popular tonight. I didn’t even know she could dance.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he asked softly. “I didn’t know she could, either.”
Curious, Tristan searched for her. But amid the disguised revelers, finding her was impossible, so he stopped trying. Then he noticed several fliers of the fields-the giant, endowed Eutracian butterflies-soaring high above the crowd. He was delighted to see them.
“Wigg let you bring the fliers here?” he asked Shailiha. “That surprises me.”
Lowering her mask, she gave her brother a conspiratorial wink. “I believed they would make a nice addition to the ball,” she said. “So I brokered a deal with him.”
Tristan scowled. “Just how did you manage that?” he asked. “Wigg isn’t one to make deals.”
“Abbey was hounding him mercilessly about wearing a full costume,” she answered. “I suggested that in return for allowing the fliers to attend, he could wear only his usual gray robe, plus a mask. It worked.”
Smiling, Tristan looked back up at the bevy of huge colorful butterflies. Each one’s body as long as a man’s forearm, they swooped and darted effortlessly. Knowing that Shailiha could silently communicate with them, he looked over at her.
“Call Caprice down,” he said. “It has been some time since I’ve seen her.”
Closing her eyes, Shailiha used her only active Forestallment to call down her personal flier. At once a violet- and-yellow one left the others to soar toward the Conclave. When Tristan realized that she was coming toward him, he raised a forearm. Caprice landed on his arm, then gently folded her diaphanous wings.
Shailiha closed her eyes again, then smiled. “She says that she is happy to see you,” his sister told him.
Still amazed by his sister’s gift, Tristan smiled. “As am I to see her,” he said.
Gently shaking his arm, he cast Caprice back into the air. She soared to rejoin her kind. Just then Wigg leaned toward him.
“You’re late!” he whispered. “And you’re out of costume, to boot!”
Sighing, Tristan took another sip of wine. Stretching his long legs, he casually crossed one boot over the other.
“So I’ve already been told,” he answered. “Anyway, I’m here now. And by the way, I don’t think much of your costume, either.” He gave Wigg a short, knowing smile. “Abbey can’t be very happy with you,” he added.
“That doesn’t matter!” the wizard pressed. “You could learn a great deal about royal decorum from your sister!”
Tristan could tell that Wigg was about to launch into a full-blown lecture when the music suddenly stopped. Wondering why, everyone looked to the orchestra pit.
The leader had come to the center of the dance floor. Wondering what was going on, the slowing dancers formed a circle around him. Once he had everyone’s attention, the orchestra leader cleared his voice.
“As everyone knows, it is an old Eutracian custom that one dance shall be in the form of an auction, the proceeds going to the Tammerland orphanage,” he announced. “But tonight we are going to do something a bit different. Rather than the gentlemen bidding on the ladies as partners, things will be reversed. Tonight the ladies will be bidding for the men!”
Spontaneous laughter and applause erupted. It was clear that the crowd was delighted. But Tristan’s reaction was another matter. He glared at his sister.
“This is your doing, isn’t it?” he asked sternly.
Trying to stifle her glee, Shailiha bit her lower lip. “I’ll never tell,” she whispered from behind her mask. Everyone’s eyes soon returned to the orchestra leader.
“So who among you lovely ladies would like to get things started?” he shouted. “Now then, don’t be shy! It’s all for a good cause, you know!”
“Ten kisa for the First Wizard!” one woman hollered. “I’ve always wanted to dance with a wizard! I hear they can be very light on their feet!”
As the crowd erupted into laughter, Tristan heard Wigg groan. The prince smiled evilly.
“Fifteen for Faegan!” another woman shouted. “With or without his chair!”
The crowd laughed good-naturedly. Curious, Tristan leaned forward to glance down the line of Conclave members. Unlike Wigg, the mischievous Faegan had lowered his mask and was grinning from ear to ear.
“Seventeen for Traax!” another called out. More congratulatory applause followed.
Urgently elbowing her husband out of the way, an especially rotund woman stepped forward. She lowered her mask to show a hooked nose and far too much rouge adorning her cheeks. With a coy look on her face, she stared straight at the prince. Fearing the worst, Tristan swallowed hard.
“Twenty for the prince!” the woman shouted. The crowd cheered.
Lowering her mask a bit, Shailiha leaned toward her brother. The catty expression on her face was plain to see.
“I’d be careful if I were you,” she whispered. “She must mean business-she just paid twenty kisa for you. Watch your feet. One wrong step and they might be crushed beyond recognition.”
Tristan scowled. “Twenty kisa, eh?” he mused. “I’d gladly pay one hundred not to have to go down there!”
Then another woman came forward. She was tall, and her red dress was stunning. Her handheld mask was white, with pink overtones. Wondering who she might be, Tristan leaned forward a bit. The unidentified woman looked over at the orchestra leader.
“One thousand kisa for the prince!” she shouted. “And don’t worry-I’m good for it!”
A hush came over the crowd as they all wondered who the rich mystery woman might be. Then they started applauding. Taking another step forward, the winning bidder lowered her mask. When Tristan saw her face, his eyes went wide. He sat back in his chair.
It was Tyranny.
Tristan looked over at his sister. “This is your doing again, isn’t it?” he asked.
To his surprise, Shailiha seemed as shocked as he. She shook her head.
“I knew she wanted to dance with you tonight,” she said, “but not this badly.” She smiled again. “Your duty is clear. One thousand kisa will go far for the orphanage. Besides, she’s right about one thing,” she added softly.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “What is that?” he asked.
“She can afford it,” the princess answered with a smile.
As the bidding for other men continued, Tyranny walked to the dais. Smiling, she curtsied, then reached one gloved hand out toward Tristan.
