Then suddenly, she was introducing him to a fat little gnome of a man with beady eyes, huge turned-up moustaches, a grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, and a great wart on the side of his nose. Brim completely missed the name-which seemed to be all right anyway because the grinning dwarf spoke with such a heavy accent that there was no communication possible in the first place.
After an eternity of confusion, he completed the reception line. Then Borodov was beside him in the crowded, noisy ballroom, placing a generous goblet of meem into his hand.
"Maybe this will help a lyittle, my friend," he said.
It did.
Throughout the evening, Brim and Margot found precious little time to themselves, and on those few hurried occasions when they did, they had no privacy. But their eyes met often, and they spoke volumes, at least. In the end, however, there was really no effective means to communicate. Brim was completely helpless to speak the words he so urgently wanted to convey. In desperation, he once even asked her to dance, but he was so grievously inept that he soon found himself driven from the floor, stammering apologies, his face burning from embarrassment in spite of her protests.
After that, he would gladly have bolted, were he able. Unfortunately, as Borodov explained with a great deal of understanding, such an exit was largely impossible-at least not before the guest of honor departed. Subsequently, every passing moment tore a little more from his flagging composure.
Late in the evening, as he politely attempted to follow a profoundly scientific conversation among Borodov and a small circle of clearly high-level researchers, Brim felt a hand on his shoulder. Swiveling, he encountered the square-jawed, athletic countenance of Crown Prince Onrad, Greyffin's only son and Margot's second cousin. "Your Highness," he said, turning carefully-he'd sipped considerable meem by this time and he knew it-"I had no idea you would be here. It's good to see you."
Onrad gripped his elbow and led him away from the Borodov gathering. "Brim," he said, with a sympathetic smile, "for a man who has just received the Emperor's Cross, you look almost happy enough to be a professional pallbearer." He shook his head slowly. "But then, so does my blond cousin. I warned you both back on Gimmas Haefdon that you'd pay a high price for your love."
Brim looked Onrad directly in the eye and returned the man's smile. "Your Highness," he said, very slowly so as to avoid slurring his speech, "once again, I have no idea what you are talking about...." He steadied himself while the room tilted slightly. "Princess Effer'wyck-LaKarn and I share only casual friendship." Then he raised a tutorial index finger.
"But," he continued with great concentration, "it seems to me that the affection of a woman like your most alluring blond cousin would be worth any price-whatsoever."
Onrad shook his head slowly as he continued to grip Brim's elbow. "She must really be something else," he muttered. "I greatly admire you, Brim," he said with look of esteem.
Then his eyes glimmered with sudden whimsy. "Consider it's only because of the medal," he said.
Brim bowed slightly. "I humbly thank you. Your Highness," he said.
Onrad bowed in return. "Keep up the bloody good work you do in the war," he said. Then he pressed Brim's elbow and vanished into the crowd.
During the remainder of the evening, Brim and Margot managed to touch hands only twice before-at long last-the guest of honor departed. Shortly afterward, a svelte garnering of Torond nobility occupied LaKarn at the exit, and suddenly Margot appeared beside him, took his arm, and-as if he were leading-directed his steps to a tiny, curtained alcove.
Moments later, she was at last in his arms, her kisses warm and moist-and her lips excitingly parted. "Sweet Universe, Wilf," she sighed, "it's been a lot rougher tonight than I thought it was going to be."
Brim nodded in silence, then pressed her torso closer to his, totally consumed by a thousand delightful sensations her body sent pulsing through his. "A lot rougher," he mumbled.
"But at least we got to speak and see-and this," she said, her breath suddenly short and labored, "even these few stolen moments together is better than none at all."
"Yes-Universe yes..." Brim agreed just before she smothered his lips in kisses. His heart thundering in his ears, he was just beginning to lose himself when a female whisper on the far side of the curtain warned, "Your Highness, he's asking for you!"
Margot suddenly froze, gasping as if she had ran five miles. She forced her eyes closed for a moment, then took a deep breath and pushed herself from his embrace. "Until the next time, my love," she said, placing a lace handkerchief in his hand and frowning. "Take care of your face-I am all over you." With that she dodged through the curtain, and Brim found himself alone in the alcove with only the ghost of her perfume-and a terrible feeling of emptiness. Shaking his head, he carefully swabbed his face to remove her makeup, pocketed the handkerchief, and returned to the ballroom floor. Moments later, Margot emerged from a nearby anteroom as fresh-looking as if she had just arrived at the ball. Their eyes met one last time-she made a sad little wink-then she joined LaKarn with a dashing group of black-uniformed officers off at the far end of the ballroom. It was finally time to leave.
Collecting Borodov from still another crowd of admiring intellectuals, Brim retrieved his cape and followed the old Bear to their limousine. Ahead lay continued revelry, and eventually a Bear-sized bed, at the formidable Sodeskayan Embassy across town where he spent the remainder of the night.
Next morning, beneath the towering Colonnade of Winter, Brim bid affectionate farewell to Borodov and a number of other Sodeskayan hosts. By this time, he was furtively curious about Sodeskayan sleeping habits-or, more properly, the lack of such habits. Every Bear he'd ever encountered appeared to be either working strenuously or playing strenuously-day and night-with nothing in between.
Along Vereker Boulevard, he found himself contentedly dozing on and off as two burly Sodeskayan Guardsmen smoothly piloted their massive Rill-15 limousine through the heavy traffic as if it were a child's toy. All in all, he considered sleepily, it had been as good a trip as possible. Certainly his personal audience with Greyffin IV turned out to be an exciting occurrence in his life-and the Emperor's Cross was nothing to sneeze at, either. He buried his nose in Margot's perfumed handkerchief. He'd been assured that she still loved him, too, though he'd since begun to have distressing anxieties about their whole relationship-and what he suspected it cost Margot to sustain it.
As the big skimmer drew smoothly to a halt beside his waiting packet, Brim noticed another limousine already parked in the gravity-pool lot. He shrugged-no telling whom one might encounter on these special Imperial flights. He thanked the grinning Sodeskayans as they opened the heavy door for him and handed him his softpack. Then, as they deftly swiveled the big skimmer around in its own length, he was stopped on his way to the brow by a now-familiar voice from the other vehicle's window.
"Brim: suffer my presence for a few moments more this morning-I shan't keep you long." It was Rogan LaKarn.
Frowning, Brim set his softpack on the brow platform and strode warily toward the limousine, every sense alert for the slightest ambiguous movement. At the other end of the brick expanse, LaKarn opened his own door and set out in an opposite direction. They met in the middle; neither extended a hand.
"Hear me out," LaKarn entreated with a serious look. "This won't take long because-frankly-I don't like your company any more than you like mine."
"It's your party," Brim replied evenly. "What is it you want to say?"
"Simply this," LaKarn said alter a moment of uncomfortable silence. "I cannot permit you to leave here with the mistaken impression that I am insensitive to the pain I caused you last evening. On the contrary, I understand, and even countenance, your hostility toward me, Carescrian. Were our situations reversed, I should probably feel the same enmity toward you." He grimaced in the cool shadows of the early-spring morning, then touched Brim's arm and looked him directly in the eye. "I can give you no hope in your quest for my wife," he continued, "but at least credit me with knowing full well the grounds on which she agreed to our marriage-as well as why you will not relinquish her love."