October 16 / Hagalsan 24

  Okumn was a pleasant enough city, with wide, paved streets sunk a full eighteen inches below the sidewalks that flanked them. In the torrential downpours southern Barugala got, this minimized flooding. The buildings on either side were mostly three or four stories high, built of wood and brightly painted, with wide awnings that covered most of the sidewalks.

  Under the wide eaves, vendors had set up shop hawking everything from pies and kebabs and other foods, to glass ornaments, to little wooden carvings. Alboim paused to inspect one jewelry stall guarded by a pair of cat-person guards. Unlike Suzsise, they were long and lithe, with mottled gray-and-white fur under their simple chain-mail tunics and gigantic upturned ears and a short tail. “Lynx-men, a subspecies of cat people.” Bennit whispered in his ear discreetly.

  A lady’s silver bracelet crafted to look like woven vines, complete with tiny cornflower-blue crystal flowers, caught his eye, as well as a pair of topaz teardrop earrings. They would be perfect for Susan and Agatha. “Very fine gifts for your lady.” the shopkeeper told him once he was done haggling for them. “It is good to see a husband so devoted even after joining houses.”

  “What?” Alboim was genuinely shocked. “We are not married,” he protested, “these are for my little sisters.” The blue matched Agatha’s eyes, and the topaz would be offset brilliantly by Susan’s raven-black hair.

  “Oh,” she fussed. “And I gave you such a deal because I hoped the lady was in a good relationship. Most women would be so lucky. Pardon, Lady. I did not see until now the mourning band.”

  Well, her birthday is coming up, and she is a friend. Alboim reasoned. “Maybe I should get you a birthday present, Kalmira.” The jewelry was shockingly cheap, at least compared to Earth prices.

  Kalmira protested a bit, but Alboim could tell she was pleased at the suggestion. After looking around and studying Kalmira closely, he finally chose a green tourmaline pendant the size of his thumbnail on a delicate siver chain. Etched into the surface of the gem, a small mage-circle for protection.

  The price was higher than the other pieces, a combination of inadvertently misleading the shopkeeper and the carved mage circle. “The only question is, should I wait until your birthday, or let you have your present early?” he teased as they strolled out of the shop.

  Kalmira flushed slightly. “No suitor has ever given me jewelry.” She smiled. “And not even my husband gave me such a valuable piece.” She hesitated. “I am not sure if I can take it. I know, it has been over a year since my husband died. My brother and Mother accepted me back into their house after Silas died, but Mother especially wants me to remarry, and I am not ready. I am sure she, and others, would take this as a signal that you are seriously courting me.”

  You would be a safe choice, I know, but I fear we are destined to be friends, nothing more. Kalmira thought to herself. It would be unwise to provoke the others, or to get my mother’s hopes up before we dash them.

  ~*** *** ***~

  The one good thing about being trapped in Okumn, was the abundance of inns and restaurants catering to rich nobles come to gawk at the Gryffon Cliffs. As the tourist season was largely over, it was easy to find a hall large enough for the thirty Brantle nobles and their guests. Even among the nobles of Okumn, there were a few more harpies willing to throw their daughters at Alboim.

  “How did did you ever get me to agree to get into this getup?” he asked Bassaros as he lifted the monstrosity the fox-man valet had turned his Panama hat into. It had been dyed a light blue, a shade darker than the sky, and adorned with gryffon feathers. The band had been replaced by smaller body feathers, russets and golds, mainly. Bassaros had also managed to secure three scarlet pinions, each longer than his arm, and had splayed them out on the hat’s right side. “I look like a peacock.” he complained.

  “Nonsense.” his slave replied. “You look like a proper, rich, powerful nobleman. Take a look at yourself.” He placed the hat on Al’s head and turned him so he could see himself in the mirror. The pants and shirt were fine, crisp, clean white linen. The boots his breeches were stuffed into, though, were another matter. Cobalt blue-dyed gryffon leather, knee high, and shined almost bright enough he could joke about being able to see up any dance partner’s skirts in their reflection. The vest, of the same material and color, had been stitched with gold and scarlet thread in swirling, repeating patterns that were almost, but not quite, Celtic knotwork.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “I agree with Bassaros.” Bennit interjected. “Half of your battle is looking the part. You look like a nobleman; you mostly act like a nobleman. Even if nothing else happens, the gossip these ladies will spread will subtly shift perception about you, and that will, given time, influence the king and his advisors.” He walked around his lord, inspecting his dress closely. “You did an excellent job, especially given the short notice, Bassaros.”

  The door opened, and Suzsise entered. “Master, Mistress Elspith requests you escort her ward Tanacetia and watch over her until her arrival. The Mistress needs to deal with something that came up, and will join the party at a later time.”

  “OK.” When they met, he realized with a start that his hat was dyed the same color as Tanacetia’s hair. He shrugged it off as coincidence, but the stares the harpies made him think better of it. Perhaps this was Elspith’s way of subtly pointing the girl out to him; he’d not spent a lot of time with her since she’d joined.

  “Make sure you dance with all the girls, and not too much with any one. No more than three dances with any partner, and only two until you have danced with all twelve girls.” Bennit’s instructions came to mind. “Compliment each one, and remember the list I gave you. Even remembering their names and houses will go a long way in obtaining their mothers’s good graces, even if you do not choose their daughter. In the end, they all know they are a longshot. So long as you are polite, you can turn them and their houses into allies. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

  ~*** *** ***~

  Soft music drifted through the heavy oak doors as Tansy draped herself tastefully on Lord Alboim’s proffered arm. He smiled down at her and nodded to the doormen, who swung the ten-foot tall doors with deceptive ease. They entered the ballroom.

  Though the musicians played on, the rest of the room turned to gawk at them. Lord Alboim was easily the most-lavishly dressed man present, and her own deep green dress, accented with snow-white lace and gold-and-silver embroidery, was among the richest in the room, as it should be. The other daughters were children of lesser barons or richer manor knights. Her father was the second-richest baron owing fealty to Countess Elspith.

  “A rival to the widow appears.” Someone in the crowd whispered just loud enough for Tansy to hear but quiet enough for her to pretend not to.

  “Will she make a move? I heard she was almost mannish, completely besotted with circles.” A soft rose crept into her cheeks at that. Magic does not care about whether its caster is man or woman. It is more fascinating than the sewing, dresses, and gossip you are fascinated with!

  She took a glass from the tray of a passing servant, and sipped. It proved to be a slightly fermented fruit juice, watered down to be appropriate for young girls. She enjoyed the sweetness and continued on to the main table, arm locked in Alboim’s.

  “That was insensitive of them,” he whispered. “I feel embarrassed to be in the same room.”

  “Do not over-trouble yourself, Lord. I am used to those kinds of remarks from those who do not understand.”

  “I don’t understand either, though. But, to each his own. It is not my right to criticize your passions.”

  She was saved by the doors opening once more to reveal the lady of the hour, Kalmira, and her mother, Briony. The newly nineteen-year-old widow was dressed in a full-length satin dress of rose-gold with cream lace accents at her neck and wrists, and copper thread embroidery along the waistline and hem. Her bustline was a slightly darker shade of pink, and her blonde hair was braided with scarlet thread and half-hidden under a matching satin cap. Around her neck on a silver chain, she wore a green tourmaline pendant.

  “She got that from Alboim.” one mother told another. “My Acantha would have had a chance without that woman shoehorning in on a second man.”

  “She’s ten. The Lady wants an heir sooner than later. My Elowyn would be of age in six months, rather than four years.”

  Alboim ignored them all. He smiled warmly, and the band played the first bar of a dance song. “I will sit this one out, Lord Alboim.” Tansy declared. She did not want the wrath of the husband hunters to fall on her any more than it already had.

  On hearing this, the first mother practically pushed her daughter, a dirty-blonde waif in mint-green, into the lord’s arms.

  “Acantha, right?” Al smiled at her, hiding his sadness as he led her to the floor and slid an arm around her tiny waist. She looked a lot like Agatha; even her name was similar. They danced, and spoke of inconsequential things until the dance ended, and he escorted her to her mother. “Thank you, Acantha; it was an enjoyable dance, and you are a gifted dance partner.”

  “Thank you, lord.” she whispered as another girl curtsied to him, inviting a dance. Why did he feel like one of the musicians playing on the deck of the Titanic?

  ~*** *** ***~

  “I can tell something is wrong, Suzsise.” Bennit waited until the Lord was gone before turning to her. “What is on your mind?”

  “It is the master.” she admitted. “The rumors are, he is going to marry Mistress Kalmira. They get rid of bedwarmers when the lord marries!” The cat-girl’s eyes watered, tears spilling out and ruining her beautiful face. “What is going to become of us?”

  Bennit closed his eyes, and held himself back from embracing her. This development was putting a wrench in his plans. “Maybe it is time to come clean.”