“You could turn a woman’s head with such diligence.”
“But have I turned yours?” Charyn laughed easily.
“How could you not?” she returned almost playfully.
He almost grinned at the way she had turned his own words back at him. “You are a dangerous woman, Mistress Alyncya.”
“Scarcely that, just a High Holder’s unwed daughter trying to hold to her wits when every word must count for everything and commit one to nothing.”
“While seeming to promise everything?”
“Of course. How could it be otherwise?”
How indeed? “Is that not life?”
“I doubt it could be otherwise for one destined to inhabit the Chateau D’Rex.”
“Is it that different in a High Hold?”
“There are always distinctions between positions and places. I am not one to judge whether those distinctions are truly differences.”
“Are any of us without great experience able to make such judgments?”
“We all make judgments. Whether they’re wise…” Her hazel eyes met his for an instant.
He almost lost track of the music and the dance, and it seemed like forever before he managed a reply: “I wouldn’t claim wisdom at my age.” Almost immediately, he regretted the words. How did that happen?
She laughed gently. “I think I liked that better than anything you’ve said.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “It was far too pompous.”
“Very pompous, but spoken without calculation.”
“You’re suggesting that every word I speak is calculated?” Again, he tried to keep his tone light and humorous.
“Perhaps not every single word…” There was definitely a hint of humor in her words.
As the music came to an end and he guided her back to her parents, Charyn was feeling slightly unsettled. Still, as he released her hand, he inclined his head. “I enjoyed the dance. Thank you.”
“As did I, Lord Charyn.”
Charyn forced himself not to look back.
He wasn’t up to another dance like that, not immediately, and he made his way to Chief Factor Elthyrd, whom he had not seen enter the ballroom and who stood alone, although another man, possibly Factor Harll, had just walked toward one of the sideboards where refreshments were being served.
“Good evening,” offered Charyn.
“Cold, but good. Most seem in good spirits, except for Basalyt. He looked annoyed that you spoke to him.”
“He could have been surprised.”
“Likely surprised and annoyed. He’s not your father’s greatest admirer.”
“Are any of the High Councilors?”
Elthyrd laughed.
“I’d thought that Oskaryn D’Alte was the High Councilor who admired my sire the least. He’s the one who’s always declaring that tariffs are too high, sometimes more vociferously than any factor.”
“As a factor, I’ve found that those who concentrate on keeping tariffs low rather than increasing their income usually lose both.”
“That is a very good point.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Elthyrd’s words verged on the sardonic. “Some factors have not always appreciated my observations.”
“They should have, but then, some factors likely admire neither you nor my father.”
“Some of us respect him for what he’s trying to do.”
“But not enough of you to keep others from strongly opposing him.”
“That’s true, but I’ve done what I can, and so have most of those on the Solidaran Factors’ Council.” After the slightest pause, Elthyrd added, “There might be one whom I doubt is very insistent, but I’m not about to say who that might be. I could be wrong. Now … I understand you met with Estafen…”
Charyn understood that Elthyrd had said what he would, but he wondered which factor was the one who was not all that supportive of either Elthyrd or Lorien. “I did. I hope we can work out something … but it has to be handled carefully.”
“I do understand that. By the way, you’ve created an awareness of Factor Suyrien. Are you going to do any trading?”
“Only when I have something to trade.”
“It’s probably better that way.”
As the dance music faded away, Charyn excused himself and looked for a young woman who seemed to need a partner. He did not know the next young woman whom he approached, mahogany-haired, slender, and almost as tall as he was, not that he was anything more than of average height for a man. Nor did he recognize the High Holder. He bowed. “Might I ask the young lady for the next dance?”
“You might. Her name is Rhyella.”
It took Charyn a moment to match names. “Thank you, High Holder Hallryn.” He turned, “Might I, Mistress Rhyella?”
Rhyella nodded, flushing slightly.
Charyn took her hand. “This is your first time to a Year-Turn Ball, isn’t it?”
“It is. It’s the first large Ball I’ve ever attended. There aren’t any in Tuuryl.”
“Did you just come for the ball?”
For a moment, Rhyella did not answer. Finally, she said, “We came with my younger brother. We wanted to see him off. He’s going to be an imager. Except he already is.”
“That must have been hard.” As might well be the fact that your father accepted the invitation as a way to show off a marriageable daughter.
“It might be for the best. I have two older brothers, and Rynhahl is far from the largest of High Holdings.”
Charyn decided not to ask more about her brother, not given that too many High Holder families regarded having an imager offspring as unfortunate. “How are you finding L’Excelsis?”
“For some reason it seems colder than Tuuryl. They say it’s not.”
“You’ve arrived during one of the coldest periods I’ve known. It’s not usually this cold, especially before winter begins … although tomorrow…”
“That’s good to know.”
Despite her initial embarrassment, and as tall as she was, Rhyella was light on her feet and danced exceedingly well. That was obvious from the first moments, enough so that Charyn didn’t hesitate to say, “You dance very well, in fact better than anyone with whom I’ve danced this evening.” That also was true.
Rhyella blushed slightly once more. “Thank you.”
As the end of that dance neared, Charyn kept the conversation light and casual before returning the shy Rhyella to her parents. As he made his way toward the dais where the players were taking a slightly longer pause than usual, he saw young Ferron D’Alte returning Aloryana to where Bhayrn stood beside their father, who was talking to Maitre Alastar. Charyn did not see their mother, although Maitre Alyna was standing back slightly.
Charyn smiled and walked toward the group, stopping before Alyna. “Might I have this dance, Maitre?”
“Of course, Lord Charyn.” Her smile was pleasant.
While he waited for the music to resume, he asked, “How do you find the ball? Different each year … or much the same?”
“The form is always the same, as you well know. Beyond that … I think most will see what they wish to see. That makes it different for each who attends.”
“And for you?”
“This is the first time you’ve honored me. Why now?”
“You’ve always seemed unapproachable.” And formidable.
“Do I seem that different now?”
“No,” he admitted, “but I might as well get used to it.” Before I have to.
“I’m almost old enough to be your mother.”
“She is also formidable, if in a different way.”
“Then I’m in good company.” She extended a hand as the music began.
Charyn took it, well aware of the covert glances that followed them around the floor. He was surprised. Maitre Alyna danced well enough, but not outstandingly, and somehow he had expected that she would.
“You dance well,” she observed. “I don’t match your st
andards. I hadn’t danced for years until we began to attend the Year-Turn Balls. Dancing isn’t part of the instructionals at the Collegium. You never did say why you asked me to dance this year.”
“It’s the first year I dared to.” That was a complete truth, and he laughed softly.
She smiled warmly. “You’ve decided to make your own alliances, then.”
Charyn managed not to stiffen at her perceptiveness. “Everyone must at some time … if they’re to chart their own course.”
“Even your sister? Does she have that choice?”
“She won’t have the same choices I do.”
“Few will,” replied Alyna dryly.
“Will your daughter have the choices you did?” Charyn countered, his voice light, worrying that he might have misspoken, but he thought he’d heard that she and the Maitre had a daughter.
“She’s already had more. All girls at the Collegium do.”
“Can she choose whom to marry?”
“We’ve done our best to guide her.”
“Just guide her?”
“Laying down prohibitions for a strong imager is unwise, especially if she happens to be one’s daughter.”
After a moment, Charyn laughed. “You’re far wiser than I, Maitre.”
“Wisdom is the result of avoiding and surviving mistakes, Lord Charyn.”
“How would you suggest I avoid mistakes, then?”
“Study the mistakes of others.” She offered a smile that contained a hint of mischief. “That way, at the least, you’ll be able to make different mistakes.”
“Unlike the High Holders, who always seem to make the same ones?”
“So it’s said.”
“Are there many at the Collegium who come from a High Holder background?”
“Four at the moment … no, five. We received another from a High Holder background on Meredi.”
“Is that a considerable number for High Holders?”
“It’s the most in several years. Having a child who is an imager is not considered an emblem of honor by many High Holders, although some have risen to considerable distinction. Maitre D’Esprit Arion heads the Westisle Collegium, and his older brother is High Holder Calkoran.”
Charyn had to struggle for an instant, until he remembered that his father and Malyna had both mentioned Calkoran … and that Malyna’s mother was Calkoran’s sister. “That’s a Pharsi lineage, isn’t it?”
“It is. Pharsi families tend to have more imagers. They also tend to respect imagers more.”
“More than position and power?” asked Charyn.
“I know few who do not respect power.”
“And honor?”
“Pharsi families tend to respect both.”
“While other High Holders honor power alone. That is clear. Beyond those who honor power, are you aware of more than a few who have even considered a concept of honor?”
“There are some,” she replied, “just as there have been some in the Chateau D’Rex who have held honor above power.”
“And what of past Maitres?” asked Charyn, emphasizing the word “past” just slightly.
“Quaeryt and Elsior were both highly honorable. Others have been less so. That lack of honor contributed to the decline of the Collegium.”
“Because power exercised without honor leaves a successor in a weaker position?” suggested Charyn.
“Over time, honor requires power, and power requires honor.”
Charyn could see that, especially if honor was not held as a virtue by others. But there wasn’t much point in pursuing that any further. “You’ve been here in the Chateau D’Rex a number of times. I never have been to the Collegium. I would very much like to see it … but only if Maitre Alastar and you would find that acceptable.”
“I’m certain that would be to our advantage as well as yours, assuming that the rex would also agree. Have you asked him?”
“I had thought to see if it would be acceptable to you before approaching him.”
Alyna nodded. “If he agrees, you are welcome. Just give us a few glasses’ notice.”
Charyn didn’t ask whether Maitre Alastar would agree; Alyna’s tone indicated that he would. But then, she is the Senior Imager as well as his wife. Who else would know without even asking?
As the music died away and the dance came to an end, Charyn guided Maitre Alyna back to where Maitre Alastar stood. Then he inclined his head to Alyna. “Thank you for the dance and for your counsel.” He looked to Alastar. “I thank you for your kindness in allowing me the dance.”
The tall Maitre offered an expression between a smile and a grin. “Lord Charyn, I have nothing to do with allowing Alyna anything. Her choices have always been hers, and I’ve been the better for that. She also has excellent judgment and advice.”
“Then I must thank you both.” Charyn inclined his head, then turned. While he would have preferred to skip the next dance and take several swallows of strong red wine, doing so would have revealed to anyone who had been watching him the strain of that last dance.
So he spied another young lady and made his way toward her. He did not recognize her or her father, but he bowed politely. “You look lovely this evening, mistress,” offered Charyn, bowing slightly and turning to her father. “Might I have this dance, sir?”
“If Diasyra wishes to,” replied the High Holder.
The young woman’s name was enough to jog Charyn’s memory.
“I’d be honored, Lord Charyn.” Her voice was slightly shaky.
“It would be my pleasure.” He turned back slightly. “Thank you, High Holder Taulyn.” Then he guided Diasyra out away from her parents. “Is this your first ball, Diasyra?”
“It is.”
Since the invitation and reply lists did not list ages, Charyn had to go by name and appearance in asking for a dance, but it was quite clear by the reaction of both daughter and father that the quite lovely Diasyra was likely only a few years older than Charyn’s own sister and very much unsure of herself. “I’m certain that in a few years, when you’ve attended more balls, you’ll find them much less strange. You may have slightly sorer feet from having too many boots tromp on your toes, and you will doubtless hear compliments that cannot possibly be true.”
“That may be.” Her voice remained tentative, but polite.
Charyn could see that, for a girl at her first ball, she danced well, and better than many more experienced, but he did not say that, knowing that she would take it as insincere. Which would be ironic, because it wouldn’t be. “Do you have a place here in L’Excelsis, or did you come all the way from Nordeau for the ball?”
“Father maintains a modest dwelling several milles north of here, on the west side of the Aluse. We often spend part of the summer there. It’s cooler.”
“Do you ride much?”
“I love riding, especially early in the day. That’s when everything is cool and fresh…”
Charyn listened, asking a question or two, and found himself enjoying the dance, simply because Diasyra was being herself, as if, young as she was, she knew that the dance would lead nowhere and that she had no worries. In time, she could make the right man very happy.
After leaving Diasyra, Charyn made his way to Ferrand, holding a goblet of red wine and standing not all that far from the sideboard.
“How are you faring?” asked Charyn.
“Less fortunate than you, I fear. I’ve not been rebuffed outright, but I’ve received a few glances that could have frozen the Aluse.”
“From the fathers of daughters?”
“Who else?” Ferrand took a sip from his goblet. “I must say that Malyna D’Zaerlyn is quite attractive.”
“You should ask her to dance. She’ll be very pleasant, and her father isn’t here to glare at you.”
“She wouldn’t even think of me as a match.”
“Enjoy the dance. Besides, if others see you dancing with her…”
“You calculate everything, don’t you?”
“Not everything. Far from everything.”
“Everything you can.”
“Hardly.” Charyn wasn’t about to admit that he’d learned young that his initial feelings were not always to be trusted, and sometimes they still weren’t. Calculation helped … sometimes. “Oh … and you could ask Aloryana to dance.”
“More calculation.”
“No. Aloryana can only dance with a handful of men. As a cousin, you’re one of them. She’ll appreciate not dancing with immediate family or graybeards. But ask Malyna first.”
“But…”
“Go ask her. Just be charming. You can even tell her I suggested it.”
“I just might.” Ferrand handed his goblet to a server, nodded to Charyn, and departed.
Charyn’s next partner was Faerlyna, the daughter of High Holder Kastyl. She was reserved, almost stiff, as if she feared him, although he did his best to be charming, and she did seem a trace less stiff when they parted.
He then passed a few words with two of the other High Councilors, High Holder Khunthan, who was genial, and High Holder Oskaryn, who was cool and almost dismissive.
Before long, he lost track of just how many young ladies with whom he danced. And, as required, he danced the last dance with Aloryana, then led the way to the adjoining sitting room, escorting Malyna, followed by Bhayrn and Aloryana, and their parents. He very much wanted a glass of wine, possibly more than one, but that would have to wait.
“You must have danced with every eligible woman in the ballroom,” declared Bhayrn.
“And a few others,” replied Charyn lightly.
“Such as Maitre Alyna,” declared Bhayrn. “Why on Terahnar did you ask her?”
“Very few asked her to dance,” replied Charyn. “I thought she might like the chance. She was quite interesting.”
“She could turn you into ashes at a glance,” said Bhayrn. “Or maybe something even worse.”
“Not if I didn’t give her cause.”
“How many did you favor with a second dance?” asked Aloryana.
“None.” Charyn had thought about asking Alyncya a second time, but if she had been the only one with whom he had taken a second turn that would have made a statement he wasn’t about to have made public. “I was fair. I only danced once with each one, except you. I did notice you dancing with Ferron D’Alte … and Ferrand.”
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