“Who is he?” Sarene asked with interest.
“Waren, first son of Baron Diolen,” Shuden said. “He shouldn’t be here in this room, but he is apparently using his close association with the gyorn as an invitation. Waren used to be a notably pious Korathi, but he claims to have seen a vision of Jaddeth commanding that he convert to Shu-Dereth.”
“The ladies were talking about this earlier,” Sarene said, eyeing Waren. “You don’t believe him?”
“I have always suspected Waren’s religiousness to be an exhibition. He is an opportunist, and his extreme piety gained him notoriety.”
Sarene studied the white-haired man, worried. He was very young, but he carried himself as a man of accomplishment and control. His conversion was a dangerous sign. The more such people Hrathen gathered, the more difficult he would be to stop.
“I shouldn’t have waited so long,” she said.
“For what?”
“To come to these balls. Hrathen has a week’s edge on me.”
“You act as if it were a personal struggle between you two,” Shuden noted with a smile.
Sarene didn’t take the comment lightly. “A personal struggle with the fates of nations at stake.”
“Shuden!” a voice said. “I see that you are lacking your customary circle of admirers.”
“Good evening, Lord Roial,” Shuden said, bowing slightly as the old man approached. “Yes, thanks to my companionship, I have been able to avoid most of that tonight.”
“Ah, the lovely Princess Sarene,” Roial said, kissing her hand. “Apparently, your penchant for black has waned.”
“It was never that strong to begin with, my lord,” she said with a curtsy.
“I can imagine,” Roial said with a smile. Then he turned back to Shuden. “I had hoped that you wouldn’t realize your good fortune, Shuden. I might have stolen the princess and kept off a few of the leeches myself.”
Sarene regarded the elderly man with surprise.
Shuden chuckled. “Lord Roial is, perhaps, the only bachelor in Arelon whose affection is more sought-after than my own. Not that I am jealous. His Lordship diverts some of the attention from me.”
“You?” Sarene asked, looking at the spindly old man. “Women want to marry you?” Then, remembering her manners, she added a belated “my lord,” blushing furiously at the impropriety of her words.
Roial laughed. “Don’t worry about offending me, young Sarene. No man my age is much to look at. My dear Eoldess has been dead for twenty years, and I have no son. My fortune has to pass to someone, and every unmarried girl in the realm realizes that fact. She would only have to indulge me for a few years, bury me, then find a lusty young lover to help spend my money.”
“My lord is too cynical,” Shuden noted.
“My lord is too realistic,” Roial said with a snort. “Though I’ll admit, the idea of forcing one of those young puffs into my bed is tempting. I know they all think I’m too old to make them perform their duties as a wife, but they assume wrong. If I were going to let them steal my fortune, I’d at least make them work for it.”
Shuden blushed at the comment, but Sarene only laughed. “I knew it. You really are nothing but a dirty old man.”
“Self-professedly so,” Roial agreed with a smile. Then, looking over at Hrathen, he continued. “How’s our overly armored friend doing?”
“Bothering me by his mere noxious presence, my lord,” Sarene replied.
“Watch him, Sarene,” Roial said. “I hear that our dear lord Telrii’s sudden good fortune isn’t a matter of pure luck.”
Shuden’s eyes grew suspicious. “Duke Telrii has declared no allegiance to Derethi.”
“Not openly, no,” Roial agreed. “But my sources say that there is something between those two. One thing is certain: There has rarely been a party like this in Kae, and the duke is throwing it for no obvious reason. One begins to wonder just what Telrii is advertising, and why he wants us to know how wealthy he is.”
“An interesting thought, my lord,” Sarene said.
“Sarene?” Eshen’s voice called from the other side of the room. “Dear, would you come over here?”
“Oh no,” Sarene said, looking over at the queen, who was waving her to approach. “What do you suppose this is about?”
“I’m intrigued to find out,” Roial said with a sparkle in his eyes.
Sarene acknowledged the queen’s gesture, approaching the royal couple and curtsying politely. Shuden and Roial followed more discreetly, placing themselves within earshot.
Eshen smiled as Sarene approached. “Dear, I was just explaining to my husband about the idea we came up with this morning. You know, the one about exercising?” Eshen nodded her head toward the king enthusiastically.
“What is this nonsense, Sarene?” the king demanded. “Women playing with swords?”
“His Majesty wouldn’t want us to get fat, would he?” Sarene asked innocently.
“No, of course not,” the king said. “But you could just eat less.”
“But, I do so like to exercise, Your Majesty.”
Iadon took a deep, suffering breath. “But surely there is some other form of exercise you women could do?”
Sarene blinked, trying to hint that she might be close to tears. “But, Your Majesty, I’ve done this ever since I was a child. Surely the king can have nothing against a foolish womanly pastime.”
The king stopped, eyeing her. She might have overdone it that last time. Sarene assumed her best look of hopeless idiocy and smiled.
Finally, he just shook his head. “Bah, do whatever you want, woman. I don’t want you spoiling my evening.”
“The king is very wise,” Sarene said, curtsying and backing away.
“I had forgotten about that,” Shuden whispered to her as she rejoined him. “The act must be quite the burden to maintain.”
“It is useful sometimes,” Sarene said. They were about to withdraw when Sarene noticed a courier approaching the king. She placed her hand on Shuden’s arm, indicating that she wanted to wait a moment where she could still hear Iadon.
The messenger whispered something in Iadon’s ear, and the king’s eyes grew wide with frustration. “What!”
The man moved to whisper again, and the king pushed him back. “Just say it, man. I can’t stand all that whispering.”
“It happened just this week, Your Majesty,” the man explained.
Sarene edged closer.
“How odd.” A slightly accented voice suddenly drifted in their direction. Hrathen stood a short dista
nce away. He wasn’t watching them, but somehow he was directing his voice at the king—as if he were intentionally allowing his words to be overheard. “I wouldn’t have thought the king would discuss important matters where the dull-minded can hear. Such people tend to be so confused by events that it is a disservice to allow them the opportunity.”
Most of the people around her didn’t even appear to have heard the gyorn’s comment. The king, however, had. Iadon regarded Sarene for a moment, then grabbed his messenger by the arm and strode quickly from the room, leaving a startled Eshen behind. As Sarene watched the king leave, Hrathen’s eyes caught her own, and he smiled slightly before turning back to his companions.
“Can you believe that?” Sarene said, fuming. “He did that on purpose!”
Shuden nodded. “Often, my lady, our deceptions turn on us.”
“The gyorn is good,” Roial said. “It’s always a masterful stroke when you can turn someone’s guise to your advantage.”
“I have often found that no matter what the circumstance, it is most useful to be oneself,” Shuden said. “The more faces we try to wear, the more confused they become.”
Roial nodded slightly, smiling. “True. Boring, perhaps, but true.”
Sarene was barely listening. She had assumed that she was the one doing the manipulating; she had never realized the disadvantage it gave her. “The façade is troubling,” she admitted. Then she sighed, turning back to Shuden. “But I am stuck with it, at least with the king. Honestly though, I doubt he would have regarded me any other way, no matter how I acted.”
“You’re probably right,” Shuden said. “The king is rather shortsighted when it comes to women.”
The king returned a few moments later, his face dark, his humor obviously ruined by whatever news he had received. The courier escaped with a look of relief, and as he left, Sarene caught sight of a new figure entering the room. Duke Telrii was customarily pompous in bright reds and golds, his fingers speckled with rings. Sarene watched him closely, but he didn’t join—or even acknowledge—the gyorn Hrathen. In fact, he seemed to doggedly ignore the priest, instead making the proper hostly overtures, visiting with each group of guests in turn.