'I'm the one in the middle, actually,' Lorenzo muttered.
'Why is it? Why, why, why is it that you never, ever, ever have fun?' Luccio blew a drunken breath out between his mustache hairs and rolled his head to watch a stately, slender damsel wiggle past. 'You are here upon a hunt, my boy! You have been offered the possibility of marrying a princess, and I…' Here, Luccio thumped his chest with one hand, splashing wine all across his clothes. 'I am commanded to assist you upon the hunt!'
'I don't want a hunt, and I don't want a princess.' Lorenzo's face fell into a scowl. 'I am here to seek a haven from Lomatran… Lomatran… pedantry! Lomatran conservatism! Sumbria is a place where a scholar can breathe free.'
'Then breathe, my child. Breathe!' Luccio managed to tip his glass and pour a stream of wine across the floor. 'And as you breathe, think what difference an income-a princess's income-might make to your studies of the arts. As your boon companion, it is my duty to see you find the solaces of love.'
'Love?' Lorenzo gave a sniff of scorn. 'I don't even remember this princess creature's name!'
'There's no need to even ask, my boy. A princess can be spotted from a mile!'
Reeling his head back, Luccio gazed upside down across the dance floor and gave a sigh.
'Lorenzo-Sumbrian women! Have you seen them? Have you smelled them? They make our own girls seem like heifers in a barn!' He flipped open his friend's folder and prodded at a charcoal sketch scribbled on one page. 'Sumbrian women! Now there is a subject fit for art. Find a model, my boy. Find a nude model if you can! Something brim full with enigma and charm.'
Lomatra sought Sumbria as a military ally-a fact that made every devout bachelor in Lomatra's nobility feel intensely nervous. Lorenzo, scion of a noble house, was young, unmarried, and available; assets, the ambassador assured him, which made him an ideal match.
Ideal or not, Lorenzo would see to it that this lunacy went no further. He had been lured to Sumbria on false pretenses, but now that he had arrived, he would use the opportunity to its full. The libraries and schools of the city beckoned; Lorenzo's freedom had finally arrived!
Sumbrian women were everywhere-tall, stately, and threatening. Any one of them might be a predatory princess. Lorenzo flicked his eyes across the room like a rabbit scanning from its burrow for a sight of hunting hounds, and clutched his art folio protectively against his breast.
Women turned in his direction, obviously scanning for prey. Sinking into the darkness of an alcove, Lorenzo hastily retreated backward around a potted palm, and suddenly felt something soft collide against his rear.
'Ouch! Fool!'
A girl spilled to the floor, plunging through potted plants with a deafening crash of noise. She landed hard on her backside amidst a staring crowd of Sumbrian noblemen.
'Oaf!'
'Sorry! Oh-um-sorry.'
Lorenzo tried to help the girl to rise, only to have his hands slapped irritably away. Snarling curses as she rubbed at her injured backside, the girl rose with a ripple of long brown hair. Shoving her tall hat back into place, she whipped about and spared Lorenzo a sharp stab of a glance through a great round pair of thick glass lenses.
All around the dance floor, heads began to turn. The girl seemed to draw stares like sha'az eggs drew hauns. Male dancers paused in midstep, abandoned their partners and advanced upon the girl. Other men tugged tunics straight or puffed themselves with perfume before launching into the attack. Lorenzo blinked and stared as the girl retreated back into a corner, pursued by every young buck within a hundred yards.
She retreated, leaving Lorenzo to stare dumbly after her in shock.
Eyes. The girl had the most astonishing hazel eyes!
Lorenzo dove back into the alcove. Snatching Luccio by the chin and swiveling his friend's head around, he tried to bid Luccio to stare after the girl.
'Who, Luccio… who under the stars is that?'
'Who cares, my friend? Who cares! We are in Sumbria-free from woes!' Luccio swung out an arm, accidentally showering passersby with wine. 'Why go for a maid, when you shall have a princess?'
Long, thin, blond, and dressed in well-patched finery, Lorenzo's friend Luccio trapped the young artist under his arm.
'A princess for my friend Lorenzo!' Luccio diligently poured himself more wine, never once noticing that he had an empty bottle. 'She will be blonde and fair of visage, as princesses are wont to be-and she will also have either a curse, a prophecy, or a thing about unicorns; possibly all three.'
'Really?'
'Oh, it goes with the territory.' Luccio spoke with culture, conviction, and pure drunken tomfoolery. 'I think the unicorn thing eventually wears off. However! They are remarkable creatures, and your mission, my lad, is to catch one; possibly more than one, if you have to toss a few back that may be undersized. I shall use my incomparable powers to seek out the object of your quest.
'Now avant! Onward-the hunt awaits!'
Snatching his hapless friend Lorenzo by the arm, Luccio dragged the boy off across the room. Lorenzo desperately strained for one last glance toward the short, slim girl in the golden hat, and then lost sight of her behind the swirling crowds.
Miliana's footsteps-little white marks made by feet which had flitted across the dance floor's chalk-left an interesting trail. She had fled behind columns, ducked through potted plants, and snuck behind the orchestra and illusionists. Finally, backed against a wall and pursued by half the air-headed young blades of Sumbria, Miliana was forced to turn at bay. To the left, Lady Ulia blocked any exit out into the palace halls, and although a plunge off the high balcony was preferable to meeting with the fawning, pompous sycophants who made up the list of Sumbria's eligible bachelors, Miliana felt loath to spatter herself all over the pavement and stain her favorite gown.
A dozen fiery young nobles advanced upon her, all visibly pulling on false masks of admiration, gaiety and love. As a group, they had little to recommend them except as fine examples of noble acne.
At long last, it was time for Miliana to show her fangs to the world. Turning her back on the pursuit, Miliana licked her lips, closed her eyes and framed the concepts of her carefully rehearsed magic spell. She felt a ripple of force pass clean up through her body from her toes-a jolt powerful enough to knock her pointy hat awry.
Smiling, freckled and petite, she turned to face the noblemen-and was instantly rewarded by a look of pure terror in their eyes.
Cantrips were simple aids to social grace; they could add a sparkle to the eye or a ring to the voice at just the perfect time of need. Miliana's version of the basic spell was truly an awesome thing; as she turned a suddenly carnivorous, fang-crammed smile upon the crowd, men suddenly remembered previous appointments, heard their mothers calling, or took instant vows of chastity.
So much for Lomatran weddings! Miliana had cleared the hall in an instant. Thrilled by the success of her first real spell, Miliana reveled in their reactions like a cat rolling in a bath of cream. She stalked after her frenzied prey, sucking in a delicious breath of victory.
Triumph at last! The age of Miliana the sorceress was finally at hand! Miliana Mannicci, bespectacled princess of Sumbria, tilted her pointy hat down across her eyes and faced the world with a predatory sigh.
Feeling herself in charge of her own destiny at last, the girl took up a glass of wine, found a quiet balcony, and leaned upon the railing to gaze out at the gently rolling foothills of the Akanapeaks.
'All hail! All hail and salute! Meet we now as the commanders of the Grand Company of Sumbria. Let those who share in our enterprise approach!'
Twenty swords were drawn; twenty swords were raised, clashed, and then lowered down onto a table made of purest ebony. The steel blades struck brilliant sparks of light as they crashed across a tabletop vandalized by a hundred years of such abuse.
The Blade Captains of Sumbria, commanders of cavalry, hippogriffs, and battle sorcerers, stood behind their seats as the current tally of shares were read. The valley campaign had caused no voting adjustments. With a nod to the accountant-general, Cappa Mannicci settled into his chair and hammered thrice upon the scarred old table.
'By the power invested in me by the company's Articles of Association, as Grand Commander and Prince-elect
