Normally,in the midst of a storm such as this, the interior of the castle would be drear and dingy. But tonight, despite the rain spattering on the windows, all was warmth and gleaming firelight.
The entrance hall was decked out in hanging banners—Shearwater navy, violet, and gold, alongside the Cormorants’ blue, black, and white stripes. Glittering twine and vines from the gardens looped around pillars, along banisters and archways, dotted with clusters of shining baubles, like gold berries.
The parlors had been given over to card tables and cake stands, while the ballroom—its floor polished to perfection by my own hand—was strung with more banners, fresh flowers, and candles.
And all around us…the Hundred and their Orha.
It was like the Veil all over again, except the dresses were wider, the doublets extra padded. There were families of nobles, three generations, all trussed up in their House colors and crests. The older women had powdered their faces; the men had oiled and forked their beards.The air vibrated with the low hum of laconite—everywhere the dark stone winked and flashed at me, reminding me of what I planned to do later.
As I trailed Vercha through the fast-filling halls, pulse still thrumming from my encounter with Emment, my eyes flicked from face to face. There was laughter and shouts of recognition. Men and women with their heads together, exchanging news or secrets or both.
“But youknow,” an imperious woman was saying, “on our way here, we heard the most troubling rumors. That the knights along the Stormshields, south of Lanniton, have been calling up men. Now, why would that be, I wonder?”
Vercha paused, stepping closer to the group. I saw Avrix Cormorant turn and make room for her.
“That’s Uirbrig Crake’s land,” put in a crimson-clad man. From his features, I guessed he was the imperious woman’s son.
“Rumors only,” said Avrix easily. His voice was warm and reassuring. “If Crakeisplanning something, it’ll be another skirmish with House Mallard. Poor bastards.” He shook his head, sipped from his drink. “He’s like a dog with a bone. Can’t leave ’em alone.”
Vercha gave a tinkling laugh, but I was remembering Kielty’s dark look.“Crake already seems to be calling up forces.”
“You’re right, of course,” said the matriarch. “Besides, no one could catch Shearwater’s share of the vote now.”
“And Crake seems to know it,” the younger man added. “I see he hasn’t put in an appearance tonight. Looks like the old dog’s given up already. Might as well start celebrating early, eh?” He winked at Vercha and beckoned to a server, who rushed over bearing a tray of more drinks.
“Shush,” Vercha cautioned. Rexim was passing.
The Brigant was clad in a black velvet doublet, the sleeves slashedwith gold, his cape lined with sable. Llir was beside him, buttoned in deep navy. A high collar tipped with lace just grazed his jawline. Short slashed breeches over black hose and slippers, dun hair swept back, a laconite earring. And Tigo trailing behind him, as always.
Something bitter curled within me. Vercha had been bad enough this evening, pampering me and parading me like an accessory, but Llir and Emment were hardly any better. I recalled Llir’s snap—“Where’s Tigo?”—on the Cormorants’ arrival. Since then, we’d barely been let out of their sight. Forced to stick to the family like limpets, to hold to ridiculous Hundred tradition.
But disturbingly, as I watched Llir pass, I realized my irritation was cut through with something else. Intrigue. When his eyes passed across me, I found myself straightening, but he seemed not to recognize me, transformed by my dress. Instead, he glanced around as Morgen fell in beside him, and I couldn’t seem to drag my eyes from their figures. The Cormorant murmured something close to Llir’s ear, and he smirked, giving an answer that pleased her in return. At the sight, resentment zigzagged through me, and I turned, annoyed at myself. Why did I care?
I began to sidle to the ballroom’s perimeter, where I could wait and watch until I had an opportunity to slip away. But abruptly, a quiet unfurled across the crowd. Rexim was standing above us in the gallery, in front of a line of waiting musicians.
“Dear friends,” he intoned, his deep voice carrying. “First, I want to thank you all for making the crossing, particularly in such inclement conditions. And particularly since our uncompromising tides give you only two opportunities, tonight, to escape: fashionably early or fashionably late.”
A titter rippled through the gathered guests, a few raising their glasses to the balcony.
“Second, I hope you will all forgive me for imparting a few words about the upcoming vote.” His gray eyes swept the crowded hall, seeming to pick out a few individuals in particular, perhaps those he knew were still on the fence.
“In a mere few weeks, you will all face a choice. I do not think it hyperbole to label this a choice between order and chaos. Between rationality and self-serving belligerence. Between harmony, cordiality…and war.”
Another ripple, but of unease this time, mixed with one or two skeptical coughs. Even the Orha stared keenly at Rexim, as though we had any say in the matter; as though we weren’t utterly at the mercy of the Hundred’s votes.
Kielty’s words drifted back to me again:“Why does Shearwater want the Seat so badly?”Something half-remembered had been niggling at me, and now it came back. The accounts in the study. The figures in red; the diminishing savings. What was it Catua had promised Vercha once Rexim took up the Chamber Seat?“Balls and soirées and theater trips all day…”and plenty of regals, I had no doubt.
“I shall say no more here, but I intend to speak further with each House in attendance this evening. Until then, please: Eat, dance, and make merry. You have my hall, and you have my promise to be a steady hand on the tiller through any storms to come.”
As though in response, rain lashed at the windows, but its onslaught was lost in the burst of chatter, the tuning of the instruments above. Soon after, the musicians struck up a melody, strings and woodwinds ringing out under the rafters.
“Come, come!” cried Vercha, grabbing Avrix’s arm. “First dance of the night. You know what that means.”
“The Orha, too,” Avrix called out, beckoning. He winked at me as my eye happened to catch his.
My stomach dropped as Vercha spotted me. She gripped my arm, propelling me along. “It’s an old tradition,” she said in my ear, “for the Orha to participate with their Houses in the first dance.”
Of course it was. My skin went cold.
