Ekka was a tall and bony woman and had never been a beauty, although she had always had presence. She still did. Her nose was too large, her teeth too prominent, and age had increased her resemblance to a horse until she half expected her reflection to neigh at her every time she looked in a mirror. Frail now and unsteady on her cane, white-haired and wrinkled and ugly, she ruled Kinvale tyrannically, knowing that she terrorized everyone and gaining secret amusement from that fact. She had no power except the power to send them away, so what did they fear? That, she supposed, was presence.
She sat as straight as her crumbling bones permitted in a highback chair on a small dais at one end of the great ballroom. From this vantage she oversaw the splendor with both pleasure and the unwinking stare of a snake. Should she notice any maiden whose decolletage fell below her standards, or any young cockerel dipping too deep in the wine bowl, then would she thump the parquet with her gold-topped cane to summon a messenger from a small army of pages that stood near to hand. The offender would be requested to attend her Grace forthwith.
From time to time her friends and guests would pause in their progress to wish her merry Winterfest, or thank her for the hospitality, or merely to reminisce. Persons of especial interest she would permit to perch briefly on the chairs beside her to exchange a few fleeting words, but that was an honor sparingly granted.
Now the band was playing a reel. The ballroom flashed and surged with color as the dancers pranced and leaped through the intricate patterns. Ekka watched the pairings form and reform, all the permutations and combinations flickering together in her mind, for Kinvale was both a finishing school and a marriage bureau. Matchmaking was Ekka’s lifelong skill and recreation. To Kinvale came the eligible young ladies of half the Impire, with mothers or aunts or grandmothers in attendance, and few indeed were those who did not find themselves betrothed to their elders' satisfaction when they departed. Rank and wealth and looks and breeding—the possibilities and requirements were innumerable. It took a rare touch to blend them all in satisfying coalescence, and a diplomacy and knack bordering on sorcery to see that the young persons involved believed that they had followed nothing but their own wishes when they united in the pairings Ekka had selected.
Now the couples she had paired in her youth were sending their children or even grandchildren. At times she felt like godmother to the Impire.
The frenetic whirling reached its climax in the final chord, then an instant of silence. The men bowed to their partners, the partners curtsied. And all over the hall they each took a deep breath, for the tempo had been fiery. The ballroom seemed to gasp, then the tableau disintegrated in smiles and laughter and conversation, men moving to lead ladies back to their seats. Close by Ekka, Legate Ooniola was escorting Princess Kadolan of Krasnegar through the crowd with the same single-minded dedication he would have applied to maneuvering his legion. Ekka lifted her cane and caught Kade’s eye. The legate obediently right-turned and delivered the princess to Ekka’s dais. He bowed. Kade thanked him. He departed.
Puffing mightily, she sank down beside the duchess. Fans were in vogue again this year and Kade took advantage of the fact vigorously.
“Ooof!” she said. “I allow my ambitions to exceed my abilities! I feared I was going to have an apoplexy halfway through that one.”
“I am sure you would never do anything so gauche, my dear. It is going well, I think?”
“Marvelous!” Kade sighed contentedly. “Winterfest is a dry crust anywhere but Kinvale. It is wonderful to be back again.” Her eyes were raking the hall.
“Over by the far buffet,” Ekka said. “With the legionary, the tall one.”
Kade nodded and relaxed. “A great experience for her. She will never forget Winterfest at Kinvale. No one ever does.”
“Kind of you to say so.” Ekka frowned at the sight of the Astilo girl talking with the weedy Enninafia youth. His family did not need her money, and it could use an infusion of brains that her bloodlines would not supply. “Your niece does you great credit, ma’am.”
Kade simpered and they both chuckled. They had been—and indeed must still be—sisters-in-law. Their acquaintanceship dated back for almost half a century. They needed very few words to convey meanings to each other.
“She benefits more from the current fashion than I do,” Kade said wistfully. Ekka was too kind to smile. Only short weeks before Winterfest the dramatic news had come from Hub—trumpets were out, bustles were back in. Dress plans had been changed at very short notice, but the last thing Kadolan needed was a bustle. She had done the best she could, staying with dark-blue satin and a single strand of pearls, borrowing Ekka’s own pearl tiara, but even in such simplicity she was still dumpy, and the bustle mocked her.
“At the back she benefits perhaps,” Ekka remarked. “She is a little young yet for the necklines.” She disapproved of the present style in necklines. They took the men’s minds off conversation.
“Well, in necklines I am qualified.” Kade raised her fan to conceal her mouth. “My niece had the audacity to tell me that my figure was altogether two things of a good much.”
Ekka’s thin dry lips sketched a smile. “Of course you chided her for unladylike thoughts and unseemly vulgarity?”
The orchestra was striking up a gallopade, and the floor began to swirl again with eager couples.
“Of course! But Kinvale has been wonderful for her! Six months ago she would have said it in public.”
“That was what I wanted to ask you, dear. How is our young hussar faring?”
Kade sighed again. “She suspects that he may have left his helmet out in the sun too long. With his head in it.”
“It is not unlikely,” Ekka agreed. “I fear that I am running out of candidates, Kade. If you are still intent on leaving in early summer, we are facing a shortage of time. Shall we review the requirements?”
The gallopade was in full romp, and Inosolan was being passed down a line of men, laughing and smiling. Her dancing had improved beyond all recognition. The ladies continued their conversation while watching the dancers.
“Character, I fear, comes first,” Kade said sadly.
“That is a problem. Anything else is easy. And character is not merely rare, it is hard to detect soon enough. Although nothing brings it out like matrimony.”
“Too late then, of course.” Kade accepted a sparkling goblet from a footman’s tray. “Holindarn insists that she make a free choice, as I told you.” She paused. “Even if her happiness requires her to remain in the Impire, he said.”
Ekka was startled and said, “Indeed?” noncommittally, while she mulled this interesting complication. She could think of several families that would be gratified to pick up a meaningless royal title, so long as their son did not have to go and dwell in the barren north for it. Her own, for example—and there were other interesting implications.
“That certainly widens the field, then. He would allow her to relinquish the throne, you mean?”
Her sister-in-law hesitated again. “It may not be hers to relinquish, dear.”
Silence was the best lubricant for confidences…
Kade frowned, as if she had not meant to go so far. “In the Impire you have had several imperesses.”
“Mostly very competent!”
“History is not my strong point.” Kadolan was still watching as Inos drew closer in the intricacies of the dance. “But in Nordland there is no doubt—only men can rule. Krasnegar has no precedents in the matter.”