A uniformed server brought three bottles to the table, still corked and sealed, as was traditional. The Councilor said something, then gestured. The server removed the foil and cork from the bottle Ramsael had pointed out, then set a goblet down and poured the sparkling white wine into it.
Ramsael picked up the goblet, raised it, and declaimed, “First, with special thanks to Maitre Dartazn, without whose skills and courage this would be a far more somber occasion, and second, for Solidar, for the Council, and in thanks for a successful end to conflict!” Then he lowered the goblet and took a small swallow.
“For Solidar, for the Council, and in thanks for a successful end to conflict!” came a low echo from the bystanders. The response was far more enthusiastic than at past balls, perhaps because of the relief at the way the war-officially only a conflict-had ended.
Ramsael turned from the toasting table, and his eyes fixed on me. He nodded ever so slightly, then moved on, smiling at his young wife, and then at Alynkya, whose smile in reply appeared strained, at least to me. Frydryk seemed not to notice.
“He did that on purpose, that part about Dartazn,” observed Seliora. “Did you…?”
“No. I said nothing to him.” Maitre Dyana might have, but I hadn’t.
We turned to move away from the toasting table, but then I could see Junaie D’Shendael was headed in our direction, unaccompanied by her husband.
Madame D’Shendael’s smile was warm as she inclined her head to us. “Maitre Rhennthyl…Seliora.”
“I’m very pleased to see you once more, Juniae,” offered Seliora.
“And I both of you. How is your sister?”
“The last I heard, she was doing well. I’m hoping she’ll be able to attend the Spring Ball. By then she will have read your latest.”
“That would be wonderful!” Her words and expression showed that she meant it. “Caartyl told me that you insisted on change for the Council.”
“I did try to stress the need for it.”
She laughed, harshly but softly. “He said that, without actually saying so, you informed Sebatyon that if he opposed change he was likely to follow Glendyl.”
“I didn’t say a thing.”
“There are times, dearest,” interjected Seliora, “when words are unnecessary for you.” She smiled at Juniae.
They both nodded.
Since they were clearly conspiring, I didn’t feel so bad about asking a question I’d pondered for some time. “Why did Geuffryt do it? So many years ago, that is?”
Juniae smiled sadly. “He wanted me to love him. I couldn’t do that. That was why he kept threatening to reveal things.”
“Why did you let him threaten you?”
“The longer I could play him off, the more I could do to change things. The books have been one way. That was my reasoning.” She offered a sad smile. “I’d like to think that those small efforts made a difference to your sister.”
“They did, and to me, as well.”
“And to many other women,” added Seliora.
“You are both kind.”
“I’ve not been accused of that much, especially recently,” I replied.
“You didn’t try to restrain Geuffryt, I heard.” The implication was clear. She believed I could have, and she was correct.
“No. It would have been more dangerous, and he had already destroyed enough lives.” All that was absolutely true.
“I think he feared you from the beginning,” she said in a low voice. “He said you were the most dangerous man in L’Excelsis. He was wrong. You offer the most promise to Solidar, but you are also the most dangerous man in Solidar, perhaps in the entire world.”
What could I say to that?
She turned to Seliora. “Our future lies in your hands and words.”
In a way, it did. Who else could I trust?
Juniae straightened “We will have you to dinner, and before long.” Then she smiled and slipped away.
Seliora reached out and took my hands. “We should dance.”
And so we did.