Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 01 (37 page)

“I
don’t think we’ll be the only ones using someone else’s invitations,” I told
Mychael. “I can’t see Prince Chigaru being in town and sitting this one out. He
seems to think any opportunity to get his hands around big brother’s throat is
one worth taking.”

“I
wouldn’t be surprised if he were there.”

I
wouldn’t be surprised either. Concerned, yes. Surprised? Definitely not.

“Though
for a distraction, there’s nothing like a nice, public assassination attempt,”
Garadin said from the doorway. He walked a couple of steps into the room and
executed a slow spin. “How’s this?”

My
godfather looked like he had just stepped out of a Nebian pasha’s throne room.
His long, sapphire silk tunic flowed over full matching trousers. Both were
completely encrusted with silver embroidery. The tunic was fastened down the
front with a profusion of silver and pearl buttons. It was topped with a
wrapped-silk turban with a jeweled pin at the front. It was a bit overdone, but
on the whole tasteful and suited Garadin perfectly.

I
wish I could say the same about my chosen ensemble for the evening. When I say
chosen, I don’t mean by me. I would never have selected the extravagance of
bronze velvet, ivory Pengorian silk, gold embroidery, and jewels that spilled
across the chair beside me as either my first or last choice. Mychael had
picked our costumes personally. I was pretty sure I could trust the Guardian
paladin with my life, but I knew now that I couldn’t trust him with my wardrobe
choices. If Mychael said that fancy dress was necessary, I’d go along, but only
to a point. I had to draw the line somewhere.

“Can
I at least wear black?”

“No,”
he told me point blank.

“Why
not?”

“It
says so on the invitation, along with the no weapons request. Only Mal’Salin
royal guard and retainers will be wearing black. Not having any guests in black
cuts down on any confusion or misunderstandings. As to weapons, we’ll carry,
but they’ll have to be small.”

I
didn’t want another misunderstanding with a Mal’Salin guard, but I did want to
blend in with the woodwork. With the attention that gown was guaranteed to
attract, I’d have trouble not being the center of attention.

Costumed
balls were a staple of the wealthier classes in Mermeia, so the trunks and
armoires of the count’s palazzo yielded a bumper crop of what Mychael deemed
appropriate attire for the evening.

I
looked at the costume again. Judging from the feathered mask and golden hooked
beak, I think I was supposed to be a hawk. There were worse things I could be,
and a bird of prey was oddly appropriate for the evening’s activities.

The
gown’s flowing skirt and short train were bronze velvet, with an elaborate
feather pattern painstakingly embroidered in gold thread, and sprinkled the
entire length with tiny, golden jewels. The skirt was slit in the front to
reveal the same treatment in ivory Pengorian silk, with what looked to be
diamonds. The tight sleeves were similarly done in ivory with embroidered
bronze velvet oversleeves attached at the shoulders and falling to the floor to
represent wings. The bodice was ivory leather and intricately tooled with gold
to resemble smaller feathers. I approved of the leather and even the corset I’d
have to wear underneath. I wouldn’t be comfortable, but at least I’d have
marginal protection against pointy steel objects that went stab in the night.

While
I had to admit it was beautiful, the gown wasn’t appropriate for anything I had
planned this evening. For one, I liked breathing. Between the corset and the
gown’s low-cut bodice, air would be the only thing that wasn’t ample. Second,
my legs needed to be free for life-extending activities like fighting and
running—neither of which I have ever been able to do in a gown. And from the
looks of things, the bronze oversleeves almost brushed the ground. First whiff
I got of trouble, those sleeves were history. Though if worse came to worse, I
could slash my bodice laces if I needed more air, and hike up my skirts if I
needed to run away from something.

I
sighed in resignation. Mychael took that as a yes.

“Sarad
Nukpana knows I’m a woman.” It was my last line of defense, but I’d take it.
“That’s what he’ll be looking for. Can’t I at least wear trousers?”

“There
will be plenty of women there in all manner of dress,” Mychael assured me.

“And
probably undress,” Garadin added. “I’ve heard the Nebians are sending a
delegation with the pasha’s son. He’s brought at least ten of his wives with
him. I can’t imagine them staying at home tonight.”

“And
the count’s new bride would hardly wear trousers to her first public appearance
in her new home city,” Mychael said. “Trust me, you won’t attract undue
attention. Unless, of course, you do something to draw attention to yourself.”

“I’ll
be on my best behavior,” I promised. Like I had a choice in that dress.

For
some reason, I don’t think he believed me.

In
addition to the mask, there was a hat. I picked up the bronze velvet concoction
with its sweep of plumes. I think it was supposed to look like the hats noble
women of fashion had taken to wearing while hunting. I didn’t want to think
about all the birds that had given their tail feathers, along with their
dignity, so that some Mermeian noble could scare away game, or make a grand
entrance. I just hefted the hat and looked at Mychael. If push came to shove, I
could always use it as a club.

“Something
has to hide your hair, even after you put it up,” he said. “It is an unusual
color.”

Mychael
Eiliesor. Guardian paladin, sacred protector, master spellsinger, fashion
consultant.

I
felt a smug little grin coming on. I wasn’t going to admit defeat. Not yet. I
had an idea. An idea that wouldn’t get me out of going to the ball, but it
would get me out of wearing that gown. “What about the beacon?”

“What
about it?”

“It’s
on a chain. This gown has a low bodice.” I glanced at the gown again and
swallowed. “A very low bodice. Everybody’s going to see that chain. A few are
going to know what’s attached to it. Plus, the chain’s silver; all the jewels
on this gown are set in gold. That’ll make it even more noticeable. The only
thing worse than wearing a plain silver chain at a royal ball is wearing a plain
silver chain that clashes with one’s outfit.”

Mychael
didn’t just match my grin, he raised me a smirk—and a rope of sparkling
diamonds dangling from his hand.

I
stifled an unladylike word. The Benares in me made a small sound and reached
for the strand. Maybe the gown wasn’t so bad after all.

I
pulled my hand back. “But I can’t take the beacon off.”

Mychael
moved behind me with the diamonds. “You don’t have to. If I may?”

I
swept my hair up and away from my neck. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he
seemed to, and since what he was doing involved the most diamonds I’d ever worn
in my life, I decided to give him the benefit of a doubt.

“Pull
the beacon out of your shirt,” he said.

I
did.

“Hold
it against your chest and remove the chain.”

I
turned my head and looked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.
It’ll be fine.”

“I’m
not worried about it; I’m worried about me.”

He
was grinning like a little boy again. Irresistible. “Just do it.”

I
held the beacon against my breastbone with one hand and slipped the chain out
of the loop at the top of the beacon with the other. Mychael’s hand came around
from behind and handed me the end of the jeweled rope. I looped it through. It
could have been my imagination, but the beacon’s happy purring sounded just a
little bit happier. Looked like I wasn’t the only one who liked diamonds.

Mychael
fastened the clasp, his hands warm against the back of my neck. That felt even
nicer than the weight of the diamond rope. I lowered the beacon back into my
shirt, my hand lingering on the diamonds. A masked ball might not be so bad.

Piaras
wasn’t going to be spared the indignity of fancy dress either. Mychael had
suggested a substitute. One of his Guardians was about the same height and
build as Piaras, and in costume, would pass as the spellsinger until it was too
late for Nukpana to do anything about it once, or if, he found out. Piaras
didn’t insist on reading the letter, but he had insisted on this. He said that
the goblin would know instantly that it wasn’t him, and he wouldn’t endanger his
grandmother by unnecessarily angering the goblin grand shaman. I agreed with
his reasoning, but I didn’t like having him within a hundred miles of Nukpana.
Piaras said that he was willing to take that risk. Everyone else would be
risking their lives, he wouldn’t be an exception.

The
door opened. We all turned to look.

It
was a six-foot-tall peacock.

“Tell
me you’re joking, sir,” the peacock said to Mychael.

The
voice was Piaras’s, but I didn’t recognize anything else. I just stared in
open-mouthed astonishment. My second of the evening. Mychael and Garadin just
looked stunned.

Piaras
was dressed in golden brown, vibrant blue, and iridescent emerald green. His
doublet was rich blue velvet, short and formfitting with delicate silver
embroidery representing peacock feathers and a dark jewel at the center of each
feather’s “eye.” The cloak was a matching blue silk covered entirely with
actual peacock feathers. It was tied dueling cloak style with a silver cord,
under his sword arm and over the opposite shoulder. Of course with the goblin
king’s request, Piaras wouldn’t be carrying a sword. The trousers were
formfitting golden brown suede with matching high boots. The silver mask was
inlaid with sapphire and emerald enamel, and was adorned with more feathers
that curved to conceal some of Piaras’s dark curls.

To
say the costume was a bit much would have been the ultimate understatement, but
both it and the young elven spellsinger were breathtakingly beautiful.

I had
to say something. “Now you can’t tell me
that
won’t attract attention.”

Mychael
looked like he was reconsidering his grand scheme, or at least Piaras’s part of
it.

A
victory. Yes. At this point, I’d take what I could get.

The
goblin king’s masked ball was being touted as the event of the social season.
Call me a pessimist, but I couldn’t help but think of it as hunting season,
with me as the prized catch being delivered dressed and trussed to the hunter’s
front door.

The
beacon seemed to think it was about to get what it wanted. At least that was
the impression I got. It was hard to believe it had only been three nights
since Quentin had stolen the beacon and given it to me for safekeeping. Ever
since then, the beacon had either been completely silent, or trying to kick a hole
in my chest. After we set out from the count’s palazzo, the beacon had settled
down to a gentle hum in time with my heartbeat. Glad to know one of us was
happy with our destination.

To
help keep gondola traffic moving on the canals, and to avoid any flaring
tempers that might result from gridlock or clashing cultures, classes, or
magic, the mayor of Mermeia had ordered all members of the city watch, not
otherwise assigned, to traffic duty. I know the watchers loved that. They were
angry, they were armed, and most importantly, there were five of them at every
major waterway intersection. There were more than a few aristocrats in town for
Sathrik’s little get-together; aristocrats who felt entitled to go where they
wanted, when they wanted, and to answer to no one when they went there.

Our
city’s finest were there to tell them otherwise.

In an
elaborately draped and gilded gondola to our port side, a Pengorian noble was
being issued a stern warning for failure to yield to a smaller vessel. It
probably wouldn’t have gone any further than a warning, but when the indignant
Pengorian in question started shrieking about his privileges in this and any
other city, the watcher said nothing else and promptly began writing him a
ticket. As we turned the corner at the bell tower, I could still hear the
noble’s shrill protests.

It
warmed my heart.

Though
what filled me with less than a glowing feeling was the rolling motion caused
by the heavier than normal traffic on the canals. My normal—and entirely
rational, I might add—fear of drowning had little to do with my present
discomfort. I tried to focus on the unmoving building in front of us, rather
than the all-too-moving water undulating below me. My eyes believed the
deception. My stomach didn’t buy it for a second.

In addition
to his house and invitations, the count had given Mychael the use of his
gondolas. While thankfully not as extravagant as some of the floating palaces
attempting to make their way to the embassy without tipping over, the count’s
gondolas were sleek and tastefully elegant. Some of Mychael’s Guardians were
outfitted in the count’s house livery of blue and white, and were piloting the
gondola Piaras and I were in along with Mychael. The count’s other formal
gondola was to our starboard, also with a full complement of Guardian oars-men
with Garadin and Vegard looking miserable in his borrowed finery.