Tal smiled. “Keylinn is a Graykey. You must always listen very carefully to everything she says.”
The Protector blinked. “Third,” he said. He pulled a piece of paper from a pocket and handed it to Tal. It was a printed list.
The first item on it read:
One (1) arctite painting by Timelo Vangelis, titled “Young Woman in Starlight.”
Tal looked up. Adrian said, “I want to give it to Iolanthe as a wedding present. I understand the Duke has it in his private collection. I really want it, Tal. At the same time, I don’t want to mortgage the Diamond for it. Bid as carefully as you can.”
Tal read further.
One (1) oil painting, pre-Starflight, in preserved glass. Title: “Young Woman Reading a Letter.”
Eight (8) boxes handmade Everun lace.
Sixteen (16) boxes Vairanan coffee.
“You can send the coffee and the lace up in my private yacht,” said Adrian. “The lace is for Iolanthe too, but the other painting is for me. Have you ever seen it? The quality of light is extraordinary.”
Tal considered that possibly Adrian just liked pictures of young women, but decided not to mention it. He read:
Twelve (12) pictures, minimum, holo, of Everun and surrounding area. Purchase or create.
One hundred (100), minimum, books. Preference given to books only available on Baret Two. Subject preference: Alien species, history, Empire fiction, in that order.
One (1) set clothing in current planetary style.
One (1) Sawyer Crown.
He looked up. “One Sawyer Crown? What is this, your laundry list?”
Adrian seemed to be thinking of something far away. “Do you know what I could do with the Sawyer Crown? Do you know what I could do if the commons accepted me as the heir to Adrian the First?” He spoke softly, and Tal had to turn to see his lips in order to make it out. The music from the orchestra played around them.
“A lot, I suppose.”
Adrian met his glance. “A lot,” he agreed. “I would prefer that the things on this list be negotiated for privately,” he said. “You’re to be the only Diamond person involved—especially when it comes to the crown.”
“Is this crown also in the possession of the Duke?”
“I don’t know where it is. Only that it’s on Baret Two.”
“I see,” said Tal. “How lucky for me. Is this a test?”
Adrian said, “I have every faith in you.” He said it sincerely.
Tal folded the list and put it in his pocket.
Adrian said, “Let me clarify. In comparison with the rest of the list, the crown is the only thing that matters. In comparison with our team’s trade agreement, the crown is the only thing that matters. You will be the only person with a correct agenda; everyone else will be confused.”
Keylinn’s dance was ending. Tal said, “The last will be nothing new.” His voice was noncommittal.
“Do this for me,” said Adrian, “and I’ll do something nice for you.”
“How high am I empowered to negotiate for the crown?’
Keylinn made her way through the crowd toward them, her eyes bright from the dancing.
Adrian said, “As high as necessary to acquire it.”
“And nonnegotiated methods?”
“Do whatever you have to do,” said Adrian.
A second later he remembered that he had just said this to an Aphean, and wondered if he’d made an error. But Keylinn had joined them by then and was pulling Tal out onto the floor again.
She smiled joyfully at Adrian and blew him a kiss before she turned to show Tal the steps. Adrian grinned and shook his head, trying to reconcile this with the story of Ennis.
He joined Iolanthe, but turned again to watch the Graykey and the demon as they danced at his wedding. “And what she sees in Tal—” he murmured.
“I beg your pardon?” said Iolanthe.
“They make an interesting couple,” said her husband, nodding toward them.
Iolanthe watched with disapproval. She had seen Keylinn Gray before. No woman as plain as that had the right to carry herself the way Keylinn Gray did. She seemed completely unaware of her own looks, or lack of them. That was bad enough, but she seemed to confuse other people into being unaware of it, too—which made all reason flee from the universe. What was the point of being beautiful if women like that were going to act as though it weren’t necessary? It was like working all your life to put money in the bank, only to be told the currency had changed when you tried to withdraw it.
“You know,” said Adrian, “so far we haven’t even danced at our own wedding. May I have the honor?”
Iolanthe saw the way he was looking at her, and smiled. There were still some funds in this particular institution. She put out her hand, knowing he would take it up, knowing he would lead her to the floor with style and dance impeccably and—whatever else he’d done—he would never disgrace her socially.
That was her seventeen-year-old romantic story-filled conclusion: She could have done at lot worse.
Later that night, Iolanthe waited in the Protector’s bedchamber, in his great four-poster bed. She was alone in a strange room, wearing the nightdress that Prudence and the other ladies had dressed her in, ready to endure whatever else other people wanted her to do. Choice was not something Iolanthe looked forward to becoming acquainted with; her expectations of life had never been great, and they were contracting by the minute, despite her husband’s apparent good humor.
The laughter and singing outside the room died down. The leftmost of the two great walnut doors swung open a few inches, and Adrian slipped inside, still carrying a bottle of wine.
“Put your shoulders to the door, gentlemen!” called a voice behind him. “We may catch a glimpse of the fair one Adrian seeks so modestly to hide!”
The fair one’s paralysis lifted enough for her to look around for heavy objects. Iolanthe came from a temperamental family and the image of connecting something hard and metallic with any presumptuous fingers that reached around that door’s
