“Shall we?” she asked.
For several moments Tristan simply stared at her. He had never seen Tyranny so lovely. Even though he suspected that her dress belonged to Shailiha, the privateer seemed to be a totally different woman. The only reminders of her piratical nature were her familiar gold hoop earrings. Relieved to have been rescued from the unappealing matron, he smiled.
“By all means,” he said. He took her hand and placed his other one behind his back as he escorted her to the center of the floor.
Bowing respectfully, the crowd quickly gave way for the stunning couple. As Tristan took Tyranny in his arms she beamed back at him. Leaning in, he placed his mouth near her ear.
“I certainly hope this will be worth one thousand kisa,” he whispered.
A gentler look suddenly overcame Tyranny’s face. “Of that I have no doubt, my liege,” she answered softly.
With the auction concluded, the conductor was again standing before the musicians. Tristan looked his way.
“A waltz, if you please,” the prince suggested. With a nod from the conductor, the musicians started playing.
Even though he cared little for dancing, Tristan had always been good at it. As he led Tyranny around the floor, he was surprised to find her his equal, if not better. She followed every command effortlessly, gracefully. According to custom, the other dancers let the dashing couple command the entire floor. After two graceful turns, Tristan gave the signal for the others to join in. Soon the floor was alive with elegant dancers, and the lovely waltz was carrying them all away.
Her mask in one hand behind Tristan’s shoulder, Tyranny looked the prince in the eyes. Tristan smiled.
“I had no idea you were such a wonderful dancer,” he said. Turning with the music, he led them toward a spot that would yield a bit more room. Tyranny followed his every motion like they were one.
“Where did you learn?” he asked.
“From my parents,” she answered. “They were marvelous dancers. I wish you could have seen them together!” Showing her lovely neck, she threw her head back and laughed. “I might be mostly seagoing wildcat, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely ignorant of social graces,” she said coyly.
Sending her whirling, Tristan brought her to her toes, then wheeled her around again. As he did, he realized that for the first time in a long while he was starting to enjoy himself.
“By the way, is Scars here?” he asked. Tristan suspected that even tonight her giant first mate would be near his captain.
“Yes,” she answered, “he’s here somewhere.” Then her infectious laugh came again. “But you know, although I’ve known him forever, I can’t tell you whether he can dance. I love him like a brother-you know that. Even so, I don’t imagine that Scars’ dancing would be a pretty picture, do you? I pity the poor girl he might hold too tightly! And may the Afterlife forbid him stepping on her feet!”
For the first time in months, Tristan laughed out loud. It felt good-as if the dense fog surrounding his heart was finally starting to lift.
“Yes!” he said, amid his own laughter. “I suppose you’re right!”
Tristan took a moment to look around. Then he smiled and laughed a bit more. Wheeling Tyranny leftward so that she could take a better look, he motioned with his chin. She also grinned at what she saw.
The two wizards had levitated themselves and their partners high into the air. At first the two women accompanying them seemed terrified. Realizing they had nothing to fear, they soon settled down. Then Wigg’s partner suddenly blushed, and she urgently whispered something into the wizard’s ear. After whispering back to her, Wigg smiled and he called a spell that effectively prevented the guests on the ballroom floor from sneaking looks under the ladies’ dresses.
Tristan realized that it was much like watching all four dancers slide and twirl atop an invisible glass floor that was suspended high in the air. Having left his chair behind, Faegan dutifully held his delighted partner in his arms as his useless legs dangled below him.
Waving one arm, Tristan caught Faegan’s eye, then winked. Understanding, the old wizard nodded. Tristan and Tyranny were promptly lifted into the air to join them. Soon all six were the center of attention.
Amazing, the prince thought as he looked into Tyranny’s delighted face. He had been right about the invisible floor. It provided just enough support to twirl Tyranny about, but also gave a feeling of being lighter than air.
Smiling, Tyranny leaned closer. “This is definitely worth one thousand kisa!” she exclaimed.
Smiling broadly, Tristan looked back down at the swirling dancers to notice the heavyset woman whom Tyranny had so easily outbid. With her arms crossed atop her plentiful breasts and her face beet red, she was fuming. Looking farther across the room, he saw young Brent. Despite his recent trauma, the boy seemed mesmerized by the spectacle. That gave the prince an idea.
He decided to ask the wizards to test Brent’s blood. Odds were that it would not be endowed. But if it was, and his mother consented, perhaps Wigg would consider allowing him to join the consuls’ sons being taught the craft in the Redoubt Nursery. It seemed the least they could do. After all, the boy had just lost his father.
Just then Tristan heard Brent scream, the young boy’s shrieked so loud that they easily rose above the music. As he stopped dancing, Tristan quickly looked around, but he could find nothing amiss.
Looking back at Tyranny, Tristan saw the blood drain from her face. She clearly understood-but he still hadn’t grasped it. He looked down again to see that the dancing had stopped. The orchestra slowly stilled, its final strains waning away into nothingness.
Tristan was about to demand an answer from Tyranny when Brent screamed again, then pointed to the variegated columns lining the room’s walls. As Tristan looked, the breath caught in his lungs. All the decorative ginger lily wound around the columns was dying before his eyes.
Tristan snapped his head around to look at a buffet table lying against the nearest wall. All the brightly colored flowers and decorative plants atop it were dying as well. Turning brown, their stems slowly slumped over in awkward death postures.
Then Tristan remembered what Brent had told the Conclave about his capture. Suddenly things became clear. Tristan frantically turned to look at Wigg.
From their vantage point high above the floor, the wizards urgently searched the room. But even they could detect no alien presence. The still-unknowing guests were happily murmuring among themselves as they wondered what was going on. “Another clever parlor trick by our wondrous wizards,” Tristan heard one man say. But Tristan knew that this was no illusion. The stakes had just become deadly serious.
Just then all six dancers were lowered to the floor, and Faegan returned to his chair. Faegan urgently shook his head, telling the prince that it had not been his or Wigg’s doing. Hearing Wigg cry out, Tristan looked back over to him.
To everyone’s horror, the Paragon was being lifted from around the First Wizard’s neck. Wigg quickly raised one hand to employ the craft. But try as he might, stopping the stone’s ascent was impossible-even for him. Faegan and Jessamay tried to help augment Wigg’s powers with their own, but to no avail.
Everyone could only watch as the Paragon glided to an empty spot above the checkerboard floor. Many gasped as the golden chain disappeared link by link, and was followed by the stone. The wizards looked aghast at the prince, who then cast his eyes back toward the dais. Those Conclave members still seated seemed as stunned as everyone else.
Drawing their swords, Traax, Ox, and several more male and female warriors started cautiously making for the floor’s center. Tristan raised one arm, ordering them to stop where they were.
An irregular, shimmering shape started to form in the air. It slowly grew until its outer edges were about two meters wide. Then the shimmering vanished to slowly show an intruder. As he materialized, Brent screamed again and ran to his mother.
A mounted figure had brazenly invaded the room. The intruder’s black stallion stood stock-still as white vapor streamed from its nostrils. The rider wore a soft black robe with its hood pulled up over his head. A black leather duster covered the robe and reached down past his saddle stirrups. He seemed to have no face, and the depths of his hood seemed limitless. Even the previously unsuspecting partyers had quieted as they realized that this dark being was not a welcome guest.
Tristan detected a slow movement by his side. Looking over, he saw Tyranny surreptitiously slip one hand
