At last, their voices stilled. From the third level above, a pair of doors opened, revealing the Sorceress-Queen, in a black dress festooned so thickly with red rubies that it might as well have been a red dress – a color of red that perfectly matched Lucian’s vest. The dress had a bejeweled Septagon emblazoned on the front. It was similar to Lucian’s, only the gems were much larger. The Queen, clearly, was not to be outdone. His throat clamped, not at her magnificence or beauty, but at the fact that they wore matching clothing. He knew what kind of signal she was trying to give with that, and if he had seen it coming, he might have put up more of a resistance.
The crowd of lords and ladies oohed as she descended the stairs, like an angel descending from heaven. The long tail of her dress floated with an anti-grav brand, while her burning violet gaze met Lucian’s. It was hard to decide whether she was more beautiful or terrifying.
Every person turned to him, seeming to wonder how this no-name Rifter had caught the eye of the Sorceress-Queen. Eyes reweighed, recalculated, and presumed a new balance of power. Half of the lords and ladies now offered gracious smiles, as if they hadn’t completely snubbed him moments ago.
Jackals, all of them. He wondered whether they were really so admiring of her Majesty, or if this simpering was simply political expedience. This soiree would be an opportunity to feel that out. It was hard to say if the information would be useful, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep his eyes open.
At that moment, Lucian’s friends appeared from an archway close to the banquet hall, each dressed in their own colors. Serah wore a new gray dress. Even if the dress was far more understated than the Queen’s, it kept more of the focus on Serah as a person. To Lucian, she was radiant with her blue eyes and honey blonde hair. This dress had no sleeves, so like him, she’d had no part in its selection. She had her arms folded in a way that hid her frayed skin.
Cleon was dressed in a red tunic, too, though nowhere near as fine as Lucian’s, having no jewels. Coupled with his red hair and freckles, it almost made it look like he was on fire. Fergus was dressed in a green tunic, hardly fitting his size and heft. To Lucian’s surprise, the Queen had allowed Fergus and Cleon to carry their own spears. Serah was without one, but none of the other Mage-Ladies had weapons. She could not have been happy about that.
His friends gazed at him with the same shock as everyone else. But eventually, the attention refocused on the Queen, who was gliding down the last few steps of the staircase. She seemed to float toward him, the levitating hem and train of her dress giving her ghostly grace. The lords and ladies parted, all smiles and manners, with looks of approval even sent Lucian’s way. Lucian couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
When she stood before him, Lucian had to keep icy concentration on his Focus. She lifted a hand toward him.
This required delicacy, and he had to play her game and beat her at it. As impossible as that would be, he had to make it through this in one piece.
He took her hand, and drew her to his arm in a single movement. She smiled, seeming delighted on the surface, but something burned in those violet eyes. She pulled him somewhat roughly, despite the fact he had taken the leading position, which elicited some chuckles from the nobles. From his peripheral vision, her pale cheeks colored ever so slightly. It felt good to embarrass her for once.
He stumbled over something on the floor, but when he looked down, nothing was there. He glanced her direction, her eyes glinting with mischief. He kept his gaze forward, his expression stoic. Her message was clear: push me, and I’ll push you back twice as hard.
He kept his face placid, his mannerisms cool. He forced himself to nod at a couple of Mage-Lords as he and the Sorceress-Queen strolled toward the open doors of the banquet hall.
The massive Lord Kiani, wearing an emerald surcoat over his bronze armor, stood by the door. The beautiful woman hanging on his arm was at least half his age, and half his size. Could this be Cleon’s sister, Lynne? Lucian didn’t see much of a resemblance, and he had to suppress the urge to search for Cleon. The woman wore a shimmering white and blue dress that left her delicate shoulders bare. Her icy blue eyes twinkled as she watched him pass, and she gave a small curtsy to both him and the Queen, her ringleted brown hair bobbing at the movement. For some reason, Lucian got the feeling this woman wasn’t Cleon’s sister. She seemed to be in her early thirties at least.
The Sorceress-Queen and Lucian entered the banquet hall first, where a long table was filled to the brim with food: meats, plates of breads and sweet treats, trays of hors d’oeuvres with meats, pastries, and glassware filled with bubbly, colorful drinks. In the corner, a small orchestra began to play a lively tune on stringed instruments, each of them wearing white puffy tunics. It was as if he had stepped backwards in time to the Renaissance.
“This way,” the Queen said.
They didn’t make for the food, but a pedestal across from it. She led him to the top, and Lucian couldn’t help but feel like a dog whose leash was getting yanked. He had to lay down his pride, as difficult as it was, and keep playing
