Emriana smiled down at her nephew.
"If you promise to behave, I'll dance with you later," she told him.
That brought a huge smile from the boy, who nodded and looked at his mother.
"Can I eat, now?" he asked.
Marga rolled her eyes and shooed him away with a, "Yes, but don't get anything on your clothes."
Quindy was feeling the fabric of Emriana's dress and said, "Can I wear this when I turn sixteen?"
Emriana gave a mocking groan and grabbed her niece in a second hug.
"Sweetheart," the older girl said, "You'll have your own dress that's twice as pretty as this one."
When Quindy grinned, Emriana tussled her hair and stood up.
"All right," Hetta commanded, "let her through. She has guests to greet."
The family parted to allow Emriana and Vambran to pass through them and meet everyone else.
The birthday girl beamed as she strolled among her well-wishers, smiling and thanking them with a word or a nod. She didn't feel at all like herself at the moment, but like she was hiding in someone else's body, a member of the royalty with everyone in attendance at her beck and call. She took a deep breath, getting her proverbial feet back under her and firmly on the ground.
It's just a party, she told herself. No one made you queen.
There were guests in attendance from numerous other merchant Houses. Many folk she knew, at least by sight and reputation, if not personally. There was Ariskrit Darowdryn, the matriarch of House Darowdryn, one of the oldest and wealthiest merchant clans in all of Chondath. Ariskrit was probably nearly as old as Grandmother Hetta, and Emriana had seen them together on more than one occasion at parties, visiting like old friends. Ariskrit's nephew, Tharlgarl, was at her side, a huge bear of a man with great white mustaches that hung down below his chin. Everyone called him "Steelfists," and the nickname fit, for he was wearing the most pompous suit of full plate mail Emriana had ever seen, fully stylized with gold highlights. It must have weighed as much as Emriana herself did, the girl thought, and she could only imagine how stifling it would be inside the suit in the warm and sticky clime.
Both of them smiled and took her hand, offering her congratulations, as though turning sixteen was some sort of accomplishment that she had worked for, rather than simply a passing of years.
A little farther on, Emriana shook hands with several members of the Elphaendim household, including the patriarch of the merchant family, Thalammose, who stood quietly with his grandniece, Cauvra. Cauvra was only a couple of years younger than Emriana herself. Cauvra looked positively bored, but as Emriana caught her eye, the other girl smiled and waved. The girls had played with one another on the handful of occasions when the two Houses gathered together for some event or another, though in more recent days, the word in the gossip circles was that Cauvra was a budding young wizardess and her great-uncle Thalammose, an accomplished arcanist himself, would no longer let her far from his side. "The Old Elf," as many referred to him derisively behind his back, apparently feared to let her out into the world, where her potential talents could easily be enslaved or misused.
Brastynbold Elphaendim was also there, though he was about as far from his uncle in temperament as possible. Whereas Thalammose was a quiet, timid lover of books, "Oldhelm," as people knew Brastynbold, was a boisterous fellow with a huge love of wine and a fair brawler in his own right. Few people in Arrabar had not heard the story of the time he'd hurled a greatsword across an entire courtyard-after downing nearly a small keg of fiery wine by himself, so the story claimed-squarely striking a thief in the back as he attempted to escape by climbing over an estate wall. Looking at the immensely tall, barrel-chested man, Emriana no longer doubted the veracity of the story, especially after he took her hand in his own with a riotous laugh and brought it to his lips for a kiss. He nearly took her arm out of her socket, but she turned the grimace into a smile and politely curtsied, then moved on.
Some other guests, Emriana did not know. She smiled at them just as sweetly and thanked them for attending just as sincerely. In addition to the necessity to show her genteel upbringing and avoid embarrassing Uncle Dregaul in the eyes of anyone he might have business dealings with, Emriana was genuinely grateful for the attention she was receiving that evening. Over the course of the years, the Matrells had been invited to a good number of coming-of-age birthday parties themselves, even though in the greater scheme of things, their House was not high in the rankings of the politically powerful or prestigious clans. The girl knew that political success was primarily due to her grandmothers shrewd business dealings and connections with greater Houses. That same acumen was respected in social circles, and most of the people there that night were honoring Emriana because Hetta had always dealt fairly with them. Most of them were.
Denrick Pharaboldi was standing near the end of the crowd as Emriana and Vambran approached. He had dressed in lavish style, with breeches and boots of similar fashion to Vambran's, though his were maroon in color. Instead of a billowy shirt such as her brother wore, though, Denrick wore a great vest that hung down nearly to his knees. The vest was open, and the girl could see several crisscrossing chains of gold coins adorning his bare chest. hen he saw her approaching, the young man went into an elaborate and superfluous bow, with his forehead nearly touching his bent knee and his arms spread wide.
Emriana suppressed a groan and curtsied slightly in response. Vambran squeezed her hand subtly, where no one else would notice, but the message from her brother seemed clear I'm here with you, so calm down and act the part. Emriana widened her smile as Denrick looked her up and down appraisingly.
"You are a sight," the young man said, and the way in which he gazed at her figure, coupled with his words, made her feel vaguely like a piece of livestock at market.
Emriana curtsied again and said, "Thank you, Denrick. You are looking well tonight, too."
Denrick's eyebrows arched slightly in surprise at her choice of words, but before any more could be made of it, Vambran said, "I have the privilege of the first dance, Em," loudly enough so that several people could hear. "Come on, before your line of suitors grows too long." To Denrick, Vambran said over his shoulder, "Sorry, good sir, but you'll have to indulge me."
Denrick smiled, somewhat sickly, Emriana noted, but nodded and waved them toward the patio where the dancing was taking place, as though it was of course the absolute correct sequence of events, and he wouldn't have dreamed of intervening.
When they were together on the dance floor, turning and stepping to the notes of a new tune, Emriana gave Vambran a relieved look.
"Thank you," she whispered as they moved in time, weaving in and out of the other couples in a sequence. "I just wasn't ready to face him, yet."
"It's all right," her brother replied, "I could tell you were still working up your courage. But he's already coming over here, so get ready."
Emriana nodded and took a deep breath as she and Vambran finished the complex steps and moved to the ends of their respective lines.
Soon enough, Denrick stepped in and whispered something to Vambran. Emriana saw her brother nod, and he moved aside to let the Pharaboldi heir take his place. With one last, piercing glance at her, Vambran strolled off, falling in with a crowd of other folks close to his age, all of them wanting to hear about his latest exploits with the Sapphire Crescent.
Denrick was an excellent dancer, Emriana had to admit, but her mind wasn't really on the steps, and more than once, she got fouled up during the moves. Finally, Denrick pulled her out of the line and off to one side.
"Are you all right?" he asked, looking very concerned.