Imager's Challenge (52 page)

I paused, remembering that Harnen had brought his daughter to the previous Ball, and I wondered if he happened to be a widower.

From the temporary dais at the south end of the hall, the sounds of the orchestra drifted across the scattered groups of people.

“Go ahead and dance, if you like,” said Master Dichartyn. “I intend to.” His voice caught me off guard, because I’d been concentrating on those entering the great hall. “I suppose I should.”

He offered a faint smile as he moved away.

I edged along the side of the dance floor, then, surprisingly, I saw a familiar—or semifamiliar figure, not that I would have recognized her except for her height. While Alynkya D’Ramsael-Alte stood beside another couple, she was clearly alone. I also noted the totally black scarf. Her mother had been ill at the time of the last Ball, and the scarf suggested that Alynkya was in mourning, but fulfilling the public social role of her mother for her father, the High Holder and councilor from Kephria.

“Mistress Alynkya, might I have the honor of a dance?”

Her eyes widened slightly, and then she smiled, taking in the silver imager’s pin. “You might.” Her smile held a certain relief, but curiosity.

As we joined the other dancers, she said, “You know, you never told me your name, Master Rhennthyl.” While I felt my dancing had improved, so had hers. She was no longer a charmingly awkward girl, and that saddened me, because I suspected she’d had to grow up a great deal in a season.

“You seem to have discovered it well enough, mistress.”

“Alynkya, please. Father discovered it for me. I had thought you were an imager, but he did not mention that you had become a master imager.”

“Occasionally, that occurs.” I laughed lightly, guiding her around Envoy Harnen and his daughter.

“You are young to be a master, aren’t you?”

“I’m one of the younger masters.”

“You’re one of the better ones, then.”

She hadn’t made her words a question. So I asked, “Are you staying long in L’Excelsis?”

“Yes, I’m studying at the Universite. Since Father maintains the house here . . .” She let her words drift.

“A house? Or a chateau or an estate?”

“A small mansion. Very small, as they go, not far from the Plaza D’Nord. We’re Bovarian by descent.”

“He must be one of the few High Holders who can claim that.” It also suggested that High Holder Ramsael was one of those with more modest lands. Modest, comparatively, at least.

She smiled shyly. “I’m glad you asked me to dance.”

“How could I resist?”

“You’re teasing me.” Her face held the slightest trace of a pout.

“I’m not.”

“Oh?”

I would have shrugged had we not been dancing. Instead, I shook my head. “I asked you to dance at the last Ball because you looked unhappy, but you danced so well. Tonight, you looked so much more self-possessed that I couldn’t resist asking you. And you dance even more gracefully.”

She inclined her head at the compliment, trying to hide a blush.

I did not speak for a time, just enjoying the dance.

When the music stopped I touched the edge of her scarf. “You had mentioned . . .”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry. It has to have been difficult for you.”

“Coming from anyone else, that would be a pleasantry. From you, I accept it in the way it was meant.” Her eyes brightened for a moment.

“You’re the oldest, I assume?”

“The only daughter, too.”

When her father cut in on us, after another dance, he did not smile patronizingly, as he had at the previous Ball, but merely politely. I supposed that meant I had risen in his estimation.

I decided that it was time to begin what was necessary, and I eased around the edge of the dancers to where Iryela had been. She was not there. I studied the dancers, watching until she passed, in the arms of a slender man with short-cut blond hair and the bearing of a High Holder, most likely some holder’s son. The young man was clearly attentive, and at times actually seemed to lose his hauteur. After the dance ended, he returned Iryela to a position beside Alynat, who seemed indifferent to her reappearance.

After waiting for a moment, until the music resumed and Iryela had looked away from the others momentarily, I stepped forward and around Alynat, who in attitude could have been the twin of the missing Dulyk, with the same
studied arrogance and supercilious smile, contemptuously ignoring the others at the Ball, except for the other young man with whom he was conversing.

“Who . . . ?” murmured Alynat, the single word conveying the sense of a sneer.

“Mistress Iryela, might I have the pleasure of a dance?” I asked, inclining my head in greeting.

Iryela turned and smiled, as if she had been expecting me all along, which I was certain she had. “Master Rhennthyl . . . that would be most pleasant.”

“Imagers . . . no breeding . . .” Alynat’s murmur was just low enough that he could have denied making it.

As well as I could, I swept Iryela out into the dancers. “You are striking this evening, wearing the family colors, but I must confess that I preferred the blue and silver.”

“You are gallant, as always, Rhennthyl. Did you say something equally charming to Mistress Alynkya?”

“I noted she was in mourning and only asked her to dance.”

“So kindhearted of you.”

“I can be, as can anyone when not threatened or concerned. I noted you enjoying the company of a young man on the previous dance. He seemed rather interested in you.”

“Oh, Kandryl. He’s very sweet and attentive. As a younger son, he has to be. He does have some redeeming qualities.”

“Such as?” I raised my eyebrows. “Being willing to accede to your wishes and desires?”

“I did say he was sweet, but enough of that.”

“I note that Dulyk did not choose to escort you.”

“It was decided that Alynat should have that experience, especially if there might be the possibility that you would be here.”

“Oh?”

“I told them that you were certainly among the suitable choices for a husband. You’re handsome and talented, and there is no way that you could ever inherit any of the holding. I intimated that such might be of interest to them, rather than . . . other possibilities.”

“You flatter me, but certainly the High Holding of Ryel is expansive enough for more than a single heir.”

“Oh, indeed, but not if Ryealte is to remain unchallenged in its scope and grandeur. More than a single heir?” Her glance was withering, yet there was something behind it.

“Or an heiress?” I suggested blandly.

“That is beyond jesting, Master Rhennthyl.”

“It has happened,” I pointed out. “I do believe that Junaie D’Shendael inherited her sire’s holding.”

“It is exceedingly rare, as I am sure
you
know.”

“That I do.” I laughed. “Yet if you were such an heiress, I’m certain that you would know what to do far better than either Dulyk or Alynat.”

“Let us not talk of the impossible.”

“By all means. About what possibilities would you like to converse?”

“I leave that to you, Rhennthyl. I’m but a mere woman, who can do little about possibilities, or even impossibilities.” Her eyes fixed on me intently, once again, if but for a moment.

“Tell me. What does your younger cousin do? Does he hunt? Or draw? Or play the pianoforte? How does he amuse himself while he’s avoiding your father and Dulyk?” I kept my tone light.

“He rides, or he takes his racing trap over hill and dale.” Iryela laughed. “He’d like everyone to think that he’s reckless, but he’s rather good with both trap and mount.”

“On the main roads?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Where else could he frighten the unwary?”

“I see.”

“And Dulyk just follows your father, learning everything he can?”

“My brother is a dutiful son, Master Rhennthyl.”

“How indeed could he be otherwise?”

“How indeed.”

The music began to die away.

“Rhennthyl . . .” There was a pause. “Should you wish another dance, please do not make it the last dance. I prefer not to save anything to the end. That is so predictable.”

“I would never wish to be predictable. When one is an imager, predictability can be . . . unfortunate.”

“Unless it is unthinkable. The unthinkable is often predictable, but because it is unthinkable, it becomes unpredicted.”

“Circles within circles.” I smiled. “Will you introduce me to your sire?”

“I thought you would never ask.”

I escorted her toward her parents, although she was actually leading me.

Ryel was an older and gray-haired version of his eldest son, except that his blue eyes were glass-hard, and the thin lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes were the laugh lines etched in his face by years of cruel jests. His wife nudged him, and he half turned.

“Sir,” offered Iryela. “I thought you might wish to meet Master Imager Rhennthyl.”

“I appreciate the opportunity to see you in the flesh, sir.” I smiled pleasantly, inclining my head to that degree that was just short of insult, according to Maitre Dyana.

“And I, you, Master Rhennthyl. For a comparatively young master imager, you have a certain presence.”

I kept smiling. “You honor me, sir, but I fear that my presence pales in your light, and in view of your reputation.”

“Do you hear that, Irenya?” Ryel inclined his head to his wife. “Master Rhennthyl would tie me up in my own reputation. What a terrible thing to do.” His eyes took me in for a moment, and there was the slightest of nods. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Master Rhennthyl. Oh, and by the way, my condolences on your brother’s accident, and my best wishes for his speedy recovery.”

I managed not even to look startled. “I appreciate your words, sir, and we all wish him an uneventful and healthful recovery. Thank you.” I inclined my head just enough. “I will not intrude further.”

He smiled, and I smiled, and I turned as he did, so that he could not obviously dismiss me.

After I left Iryela and her sire, I caught sight of Madame D’Shendael, near one of the sideboards. She had requested a dance, and her husband was talking to another High Holder, though he did stand beside her.

I moved toward her, then inclined my head. “Madame, might I have the honor of a dance?”

Her eyes took in my black formal dress and the silver imager’s pin. “You might, Master Rhennthyl.”

I took her hand, and we began to dance. Her husband scarcely seemed to notice that she was gone.

“Has your sister yet read
On Art and Society
, Master Rhennthyl?”

“She recently got her own copy, but I’ve also read most of it. There is a copy in the Collegium Library.”

“Yes, there would be, buried in among all the other treatises on the organization of society. And how does a master imager who must work with the Civic Patrol as a common patroller reconcile such an attempt at lofty prose to the mundanity of each day?”

“What we do, I believe, madame, is not all that we are, nor all that we could be. Reading opens one’s eyes to the possibilities.”

“Ah, yes, to the cruelty of possibilities seldom realized. Did you know that Vhillar had three small children?”

“No, madame, but I do know that the more than ten junior imagers whose deaths he arranged might well have had small children, had they lived long enough to reach that point in life that Vhillar had already attained. I know that Emanus might have enjoyed a few more years of life.”

“Would you call his life enjoyable, truly, Master Rhennthyl?”

“I could not speak to that, madame, but he did tell me that he had no regrets about what he had done. It was clear that he referred to giving up his position in the guild.”

“Just that?” Her voice was casual.

“I do not know how he managed to arrange matters, but he was happy to do what was necessary to protect his daughter and to make her secure. Of that I am certain.” That was as close as I dared to allude to the fact that she was his daughter.

“You are rather young to presume that, are you not?”

“I presume nothing, madame. I only listened.”

“He would not have said that.”

“I listened to the words he did not say and combined them with what I could see about his artistry and how he had acted.”

“You will be disappointed in life, Master Rhennthyl. For one so young, you see well beyond what appears on the surface. Few do.”

“I suspect that, madame, and that may be why I am accompanying common patrollers.”

“Emanus . . . he said that, even for a portraiturist, once the painting was begun, hesitation was only an invitation to failure. Imaging, I would think, is similar to portraiture, especially in dealing with the Council or High Holders. You are both portraiturist and imager, are you not?”

“Yes, madame.”

“How would you view his observation?”