The First Blade of Ostia (11 page)

A
mero ran
an oily cloth along the length of his rapier blade. The arena was all but empty and he was alone in the Bannerets’ Enclosure. He liked the peaceful atmosphere; so different to the emotionally charged one that had prevailed a short time before. He checked the mirror finish of the blade’s surface in the light to make sure there were no droplets of sweat or blood remaining, anything that could cause the blade to rust while in storage until his next duel.

A lower ranked opponent usually followed a match with a higher ranked one, which was what he had faced that evening. He smiled as he thought of the five points he had just won. It was another step toward silencing the whispers and gossip. He was not just the Hammer’s son, and he was going to prove that to anyone who thought to the contrary.

‘You’re going to continue with this farce?’

The smile dropped from Amero’s face. ‘Looks that way.’ He did not look up from his sword case.

‘I watched, you know,’ Renald said.

‘That must have been painful.’ Amero snapped the catches on the case shut.

‘Yes and no. I think you’re above this prancing about to entertain the masses, but you do have form. You made that other fellow look like a donkey.’

Amero raised his eyebrows. It was the closest thing to a compliment his father had ever paid him.

‘It’s form that would be put to better use in a regiment, though.’

‘Now we come to the core of it,’ Amero said, not to anyone in particular.

‘I wanted to try and make you see sense one more time,’ Renald said. ‘The grandson of a Duke should not be making a spectacle of himself in the arena.’

‘Yes, slaughtering peasants by the thousand in the southern passes is a far better use of one’s time,’ Amero said.

‘I’ve said what I came to say,’ Renald said. ‘It’s not the time or place to say more. Think on it. I’ve asked, and I won’t do that again. Rest assured, this isn’t the end of it.’

B
ryn had trained alone
with Bautisto that day. Amero had fought another match the day before so had taken a day’s rest. With the winter social season moving into full swing, Amero had another ball to attend and as usual asked Bryn to go along. It was in one of the mansions of Highgarden so Bryn had to rush back to his apartment to wash and change after training. They agreed to meet at the venue at eight bells, knowing it was unlikely he would be able to call down to the apartment in Oldtown early enough.

As usual he wore his dark blue Academy doublet. Without a military commission and the uniform to go with it, it was the only thing that he had which marked him out as being a member of the finer classes. He knew it was time to get something more suitable now that he was no longer a student, but there were more important things that needed the money.

He found himself unusually excited by the prospect of the ball, and it was not the music that was causing it. He did not like to get too caught up in anyone or anything, but he could not help but hope that Joranna dal Verrara would be there. He remembered Amero’s words of warning, but found himself unable to give them any credence.

The chime for eight bells rang out from the cathedral’s campanile over on the far side of Crossways, the time he had arranged to meet Amero. He cursed and hastened the speed at which he was buttoning up his doublet. He charged out of his apartment and down the stairs two at a time, trying not to get his sword tangled between his legs. He burst out onto the street and abruptly slowed to a normal walk. It wasn’t the done thing for a banneret to be seen running through the streets.

It was completely dark when he arrived at the gates to the mansion. Large mage lamps held within ornately decorated metal frames illuminated the gateway and several liveried men stood there checking the invitations. Bryn approached them and one held out a hand, a polite smile on his face.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have an invitation,’ Bryn said. ‘I’m here in the party of Amero dal Moreno. I think he’s already arrived.’

‘I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to wait a moment, sir, I’ll have someone go and find him.’

‘That’s all right,’ a voice from behind Bryn said, a woman’s voice.

‘Very good, ma’am, might I see your invitation?’

Bryn turned to see Joranna dal Verrara standing behind him, along with several other ladies and the chaperones of her party.

She smiled demurely at Bryn and reached forward to hand her invitation to the servant.

He stepped back to allow them all to pass. ‘Enjoy your evening, my lady.’

After they passed into the courtyard Bryn stopped and turned to Joranna. ‘Thank you for that, gods only know how long it would have taken them to find Amero and bring him out.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ she said, and then more quietly so that no one else could hear her, ‘at the very least you had better offer me a dance this evening.’

‘I… Yes, of course.’

‘Well, you better go on ahead, it wouldn’t be seemly for us to go in together.’

‘Yes, of course, thanks again,’ Bryn said, realising that he had repeated himself. He turned and began to walk toward the house.

‘Don’t forget now,’ she called out after him.

He cast another glance over his shoulder to look back at her, but she had already returned to a conversation with her companions.

A
s soon as
he got inside, he could hear music drifting out from the back of the house. It lifted his spirits, if they could be lifted any further after his brief exchange with Joranna and he felt the excitement of the night ahead flush through him. It was something he had never felt at a ball before.

He walked through the house, being discreetly directed by more servants until he reached the ballroom. It ran the length of the back of the house and overlooked what he imagined to be an ornate garden, although it was too dark to see anything beyond the glass of the large windows. Half the room was filled with tables fully decked out with glassware and cutlery and it was something of a relief to Bryn that he hadn’t missed the start of the meal; he was starving. The other half was clear to allow for dancing later in the night, while the orchestra was set up at that end, still only playing quietly to allow for conversation.

Bryn had never been in this house before, and the features that particularly caught his attention were the three ornate chandeliers that were suspended from the high ceiling. Each was a masterpiece of intricately cut crystal and home to what must have been hundreds of tiny mage lamps, each no bigger than the end of his thumb. They bathed the room in a warm, decadent light that shouted opulence and wealth as clearly as though the city criers in Crossways were announcing it.

It only took him a moment to find Amero, propping up the bar at one end of the room with several other bannerets, all of them the new additions to his retinue.

‘I thought you’d decided not to come,’ Amero said as he approached.

‘It takes longer than you’d expect to look this good,’ Bryn said, eliciting a slight chuckle from the other bannerets.

‘No,’ Amero said. ‘I imagine it takes you
quite
some time. How’d you get in anyway?’

‘I have my methods,’ Bryn said. ‘Now, I’m parched, what’s good to drink?’

‘Dal Bragadin piss from the shores of the Blackwater is all, I’m afraid,’ Amero said. ‘Can never understand how they charge so much for a bottle of it. Compared to the wines from home, it’s not much better than vinegar.’

Bryn raised an eyebrow. Blackwater wines—produced by the Elector Count Bragadin family—were amongst the most expensive available, and another one of the subtle statements of effortless wealth aristocrats liked to make at their balls. There was no love lost between the Moreno and Bragadin families though; they had long been political rivals. Bryn was delighted to get a glass or two. For him it was an unexpected, and rare, treat.

The bar behind them was laid out with dozens of glasses filled with sparkling wine. Bryn took one and joined the others in their disinterested, yet surreptitiously watchful pose. It was only a moment or two later that Joranna and her group came into the ballroom.

‘The evening’s looking up,’ one of the bannerets said, and all the rest laughed, including Bryn.

Seeing Joranna walking into the ballroom reminded him of his promise to ask her for a dance, which served to eradicate the relaxed feeling his glass of wine had been imbuing. Dancing lessons were given at the Academy in an effort to ensure all of the graduates would be able to function in polite society. Bryn had always appreciated that dancing and swordplay were not all that far removed from one another, but despite his love for music, the practical utility he saw in it and the effort he had made in learning, he had never taken to it particularly well. He felt nervous not just at the idea of dancing with her, but having to formally approach her in front of her chaperone to ask to sign her dance card. He had done it only rarely in the past, and never with an aristocrat and the additional formality that went with one of that station. All things considered he realised that it was unlikely she would turn him down; nonetheless, he felt little different than he had in the moments before stepping into the arena in Tanosa.

‘Is everything all right?’ Amero said.

‘Yes, fine, why?’

‘You’re sweating.’

Bryn realised that his forehead was covered in a wet sheen. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it off. ‘It’s just the walk up the hill.’

It looked as though half of the intended guests had arrived before Bryn. The room continued to fill until the gong was rung to call everyone to their tables for the meal.

He found it hard to concentrate on the conversation at the table, or the meal itself. By the time it was finished he felt more nervous than he ever had when faced with an impending duel. One by one the other bannerets at the table began to disperse to track down the young women they wanted to ask for a dance. This was usually the point where Bryn made himself comfortable with a bottle of wine to listen to the music.

It was not long before he found himself alone at the table and felt the sheen of sweat return to his brow. As circumspectly as he could, Bryn scanned the room for Joranna. He didn’t want to have to wander around the room like an idiot trying to find her, so he decided not to make his move until he spotted her.

When he did eventually see her, he hesitated a moment too long. She turned and caught his gaze. He completely lost his nerve and looked away. In that moment the prospect of being run through in the arena felt a lot more comforting than the idea of walking up to Joranna and, in front of dozens of other people, asking to sign her card. Nevertheless, that was what he had to do. He took a fortifying breath, stood and walked across the room to her with as much confidence as he could muster.

‘I was wondering if I might have the honour of a dance,’ he said, his delivery not nearly as authoritative as he had imagined it would be.

Joranna’s expression changed as she regarded him, but she said nothing. Bryn flicked his eyes to the older woman standing to the side, whom Bryn took to be Joranna’s chaperone, before flicking back to Joranna. She held out her card, cream with gilt lettering at the top and a small pencil attached by a piece of crimson ribbon. He took it and flipped it open, casting his eyes down the list. He felt his face flush as each line his eyes passed was already filled in. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realised there was one dance, the last, still free. He signed his name.

‘I was beginning to run out of excuses,’ Joranna said, as Bryn handed her back the card. ‘That last spot has been much in demand.’

‘I hadn’t thought that it would fill so quickly,’ Bryn said, realising the implication as soon as the words had left his mouth and wishing he could pull them back in.

‘My, my, you are the charmer.’ She smiled with mock indignation. ‘See you for the last dance.’ She turned and walked away in the company of her chaperone, leaving Bryn standing alone feeling more than a little foolish.

B
ryn knew
it was foolish putting all of his eggs in one basket by not bothering to ask anyone else to dance that night, and letting Joranna see that he wasn’t interested in anyone else, but he did so regardless. As the dancing began he idled around the bar chatting with the other bannerets he knew, much of which revolved around making amusing, but disparaging, remarks about those gentlemen present who hadn’t been to the Academy.

Eventually the time came for his dance with Joranna. As her card had suggested would be the case, she had not left the floor since the dancing had begun. Bryn had found it difficult to take his eyes off her all night. She moved with practised grace and elegance as though she was floating across the floor in her pale blue gown, and he couldn’t help but think she would make a superb duellist, were the sport open to women.

When his turn arrived, he made his way over to her and took her hand.

‘Ah, Banneret,’ she said. ‘From the amount of time you’ve spent at the bar this evening, I’m surprised you’re still able to stand, let alone dance. But it is a little flattering that I’m the only one you’ve chosen to dance with.’

He hadn’t realised that she’d noticed him, and although he’d been far more moderate in his drinking than the others he had been talking to, he was feeling a little more relaxed than he might have otherwise.

‘Dancing with anyone else seemed pointless,’ he said, trying to sound tongue in cheek.

She smiled and looked at him with teasingly indignant eyes. ‘It’s an improvement on your last effort, but you’re going to have to do better than that.’

Bryn smiled as the music began and he led her in the dance. She was far better than he, but the basic classes he had taken, along with the agility imbued by countless hours of swordplay allowed him to acquit himself reasonably well. However the conversation was stilted, as Bryn needed most of his concentration to keep up with Joranna’s greater skill. It was a relief when the music finally ended.

‘Thank you for the dance,’ Bryn said.