“Oh, Kevessa.” He enfolded her in his arms, ignoring the squirrel’s excited chatter in his ear to the best of his ability. “I’m not angry. I’m worried for you, and frightened, and confused. I don’t understand this power. I believe what you’re telling me, but it goes against everything I’ve ever known.”
“I’ll help you, Father. You can study it, measure it, experiment with it. We can learn about the Mother’s power together.”
“Yes,” Gevan whispered. Her words were an anchor in the shifting, stormy sea in which he found himself. If the Mother’s power was a natural phenomenon, as Elkan insisted it was, then it could be observed, described, quantified. Everything he’d thought he knew had crumbled around him, but his ways of knowing were still valid. He released Kevessa and stepped back. “I believe Master Elkan is prepared to give you your first lesson. Elkan, you don’t mind if I observe?”
“Not at all. Here, let’s sit down. It’s very late, so we’ll keep this brief, but there are a few basics you need to understand, Kevessa. First, let’s practice a little.” He pointed to the cards scattered forgotten across the tabletop. “Why don’t you and Nina gather these together. Notice how it requires more effort to lift the ones farther away than the ones up close.”
Gevan bent close to observe the gold light spooling from Kevessa’s fingers and surrounding each of the cards in turn. Gradually his fascination with the process pushed aside the tangled confusion of his emotions, at least for the moment.
One worry continued to nag at him, though. What was he going to tell his sister?
Twenty-Three
N
irel clutched Kabos’s arm as they climbed a broad flight of white marble steps toward an enormous pair of doors. This house was even bigger and more imposing than Kevessa’s. Nirel could hardly believe such a grand edifice was the property of a single family. But she was sure Kevessa had said the ball would be held at the home of a friend, and this was the address inscribed on the invitation nestled safe in Nirel’s purse.
She tried desperately to remember every tiny mention Kevessa had made of ball etiquette. They’d expected to have weeks for Nirel to learn all the details under Kevessa’s patient tutelage. Kevessa had assured Nirel that any small slips on her part would be excused as the charming eccentricities expected of a foreigner. Somehow Nirel doubted the same would hold true for major breaches of proper behavior.
It was too late to worry now. Nirel would have to muddle through by careful observation and imitation of the other ball guests.
Ahead of them, a trio of guests paused before the open doors, conversing with one of the uniformed men flanking the entrance. Nirel leaned to the side until she caught a glimpse of one of the guests displaying a familiar-looking sheet of parchment to the doorman. He waved a white-gloved hand, and they swept through the doors.
Nirel fumbled with her purse. She managed to extract the invitation in time to smoothly and without any sign of the fluster she felt present it to the door’s guardian. He looked at it carefully before handing it back and ushering them in with the same sweeping gesture.
She tugged Kabos with her into the house. He glowered silently. She could tell by his stiff and emotionless demeanor that he was even more nervous than she was. Her task tonight might have been easier if she’d been able to leave him behind. But Kevessa had said it was unthinkable for a young person to attend a ball without a parent to escort them. And Kabos certainly wouldn’t have let her come alone. Still, she doubted he’d be very successful making small talk or engaging in cheerful gossip, the usual role of parent chaperones. He’d probably stand around all night, scowling at anyone who tried to talk to him. At least no one would expect him to dance.
The long, tall passage was brightly lit by many flickering lamps. Ahead and to the right a cluster of people waited in front of another wide set of doors. Heart pounding, Nirel moved to join them.
Every minute or two the doors opened, releasing a swirl of music and laughing voices. A small group of guests would enter, and the doors would swing closed again.
Another liveried man reached for the invitation Nirel still clutched. She surrendered it, and he studied it. His brows furrowed in a deep frown, then suddenly arched. “Ah. You’re the foreigners. Lady Yovella left instructions for your introduction.” He narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. “You will understand that she found the surnames you use in your homeland somewhat… uncouth. Therefore she’s taken the liberty of using a more harmonious formulation.”
“Of course.” Nirel nodded, trying her best to convey relaxed unconcern. Within, she fumed. What was wrong with their names? “Knitterkin” and “Farmer” might not sound as fancy as “Navorre” or “Legarre,” but they translated into Ramunnan well enough.
The man cracked one of the doors open and peered through, holding up a hand to still Nirel and Kabos. At some signal from within, he nodded to his fellow, and the two of them swept the doors open in one swift movement. Nirel put up her chin and strode forward, pulling Kabos with her. She found herself on a raised dais, elevated several feet above the main level of the ballroom, in clear view of everyone.
“Lord Kabos of Tevenarre and his daughter Lady Nirel of Tevenarre,” boomed a loud voice. Nirel was sure it must be audible throughout the huge room, even over the music and conversation. Heads turned their way and eager eyes sought them.
Nirel swallowed and bent her knees in the best curtsy she could manage. Mortified, she realized Kabos remained erect. “Bow!” she hissed through her fixed smile.
He bent stiffly at the waist. Nirel waited until the wave of enthusiastic applause died down before straightening. She clutched Kabos’s arm and navigated the steps down into the room.
A mob of strangers swarmed around them, all clamoring to get their attention. Most of them were smiling, although a few wore reserved expressions. But Nirel couldn’t tell which of the smiles were truly welcoming, and which were masks concealing hostility.
She held up a hand. “Pardon, please.” She was careful to use the refined pronunciations Kevessa had taught her, but deliberately failed to adjust the finer points of her instinctive Tevenaran phrasing into the Ramunnan style. “I am not yet good with your language. I speak only a little. My father, even less. I will answer your questions if I can, but please speak slowly, one by one.”
The crowd murmured apologies. Nirel searched the ring of faces and settled on a boy a year or two older than she. He didn’t have a girl on his arm, as most of the others did, and his face seemed friendly. “What did you say?”
He nodded to her. “Welcome to Ramunna, Lady Nirel, Lord Kabos. My name is Mansan Govath. Are you enjoying your stay here?”
“Yes, very much.”
“It must be very different from your homeland. We’ve heard so many rumors about your people and your country since you arrived. It’s hard to know what’s true. All of us are eager to hear whatever you’d like to share with us.” He flashed her a winning smile.
She smiled back, trying to decide whether his friendliness was genuine or feigned. “I will be happy to tell you all about my home. But first, I was told it is the custom to greet our hostess?”
“Of course.” Mansan glanced over his shoulder. “Let me take you to Lady Yovella. She’s over there by the musicians.” He held out his arm.
Nirel released her father’s arm and took Mansan’s. She thought she heard a few envious sounds, but ignored them. Kabos clung close to her heels as Mansan led her across the room. The rest of the crowd followed in a tight cluster, unwilling to surrender their proximity to the foreigners.
Lady Yovella was a large middle-aged woman with a commanding presence. As they drew near, Nirel heard her voice over the ambient noise. “—three more pieces to allow the last few guests to arrive, and then begin the dances.”
She turned and swept to meet the approaching group. “Lady Nirel, I’m so glad you’re here! Nimika was so excited to hear that you would be coming. Especially after her dear friend Kevessa left Ramunna so abruptly.” Lady Yovella’s eyes fixed avidly on Nirel. “It was all anyone could talk about for days. Lady Alitta was quite beside herself when her niece disappeared.”
Nirel kept a polite expression plastered on her face. “Kevessa was pleased when the opportunity to travel with her father arose.”
Yovella was silent for a moment, clearly waiting for more. When Nirel gazed blandly at her, her smile faded. “They say she left her home in the middle of the night…” Her voice trailed upward.
“I’m sorry.” Nirel did her best to look innocently apologetic. “I know nothing more about it.”
Yovella’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then she waved her hand. “No matter. I see you’ve met Mansan. He’s a lovely young man. Mansan, why don’t you introduce her around. Lady Nirel, the dancing will begin soon. Will you wish to participate?”
“Yes, please, although I have only learned a little of your dances.”
“You’ll do fine. Everyone will be happy to teach you. Mansan, if you’d partner her for the first dance, and make sure she’s not neglected after that. Lord Kabos, why don’t you come with me. While the youngsters have their fun, there are a number of people I know will be delighted to meet you.” Yovella took Kabos’s arm and steered him toward the far wall, where a cluster of people stood around with wine glasses, occasionally helping themselves to treats offered by servants with silver trays. The older people in the group around Nirel accompanied them, leaving her surrounded by girls and boys her own age or slightly older.
Mansan grinned at her. “She told the musicians three pieces, so there will be plenty of time for you to tell us about Tevenar before the dancing starts. Here, this is Orlarre, and Shanna, and Kenonel…”
Nirel paid close attention as he named his companions. But none of them was the one she’d been instructed to seek out. She glanced around surreptitiously. Many other young men and women were scattered around the huge ballroom. She’d have to be patient. There was no way she could ask about the boy she sought without raising suspicions.
Mansan pulled her toward the opposite wall from where the parents gathered, farther from the musicians so it was easier to hear each other. More and more people joined their group, and Mansan rattled their names at her. She struggled not to miss one.
“That’s enough names. I know you won’t be able to remember most of them anyway.” Mansan laughed, and Nirel echoed him, swallowing her frustration. He hadn’t gotten to half the people crowding around her. “Now it’s your turn. Tell us about Tevenar.”
“What do you want to hear? I could tell you about the guilds, they’re very different from the way things are done here. In Tevenar, most of you would be apprentices to one guild or another. You start when you’re thirteen. Then when you’re twenty, if the masters think you’re ready, you become a journeyman. I guess some of you are old enough. Journeymen don’t have to be directly supervised by masters. You can go into business for yourself and earn your own money. That’s when you can get married, if you want…”
Nirel trailed off. They were all listening politely, but without real interest.
A girl leaned forward. “What about the wizards? Tell us about them. Can they really do magic like the ancient wizards?”
“Yes!”
“Tell us about the wizards.”
“Are they real?”
“Are they really coming here?”
Nirel shrank from the torrent of eager questions. She glanced at Mansan, who grinned and waved negligently. The noise died down. “Go on,” he said.
She took a deep breath. She should have known this was the only subject anyone would care about. “Yes, the wizards are real. I’ve seen them use their power lots of times. The first time was when a wizard came to my home and healed my baby sister…”
She told the story in as much detail as she could remember, encouraged by the rapt fascination of her audience. They hung on every word of description she could muster about how the golden light had flowed through the air and transformed Ilana’s deformed face. Constant questions broke into her story, and she answered them at length.
When she could draw out the telling no longer, she cast around for anything else she could say about the wizards. Most of the other times she’d witnessed them using their power involved parts of her past she wasn’t willing to share. She couldn’t tell them that she’d been an outlaw, or that the wizards had snuck up on them as they slept, so she woke to find the gold light paralyzing her. Or about the long march back to Elathir, where she’d come to hate the power that had ceaselessly forced her to do the wizards’ will. She couldn’t tell them how Josiah had tried to sink their ship and failed. And most of all, she could never, ever admit to anyone, ever again, that the light of the wizards’ power had once sunk beneath her skin and changed her body.
A commotion arose at the ballroom entrance. Nirel welcomed the excuse to break off her tale and turn to look.
An elderly man in long, rich robes, very different from what the other men were wearing, strode in, chatting amiably with the doorman as he came. On his arm was a much younger, very beautiful woman. Beside them came a young man of around seventeen, handsome in a dark, brooding way.
The doorman nodded to the man and took his position, feet braced wide, arms behind his back. His voice boomed out. “Lord Emirre Rothen, First Keeper of Ramunna, his wife Lady Nathenarre Rothen, and his son, Lord Vigorre Rothen.” The trio bowed and curtsied in response to the crowd’s applause.
Nirel stiffened. Doing her best to keep her voice casual, she turned to Mansan. “First Keeper? I do not know this term.”
He shrugged. “It means he’s in charge of all the Temples and Keepers in Ramunna. He leads the big Springtide ceremonies, things like that. Tells everyone what the Mother wants.”
One of the girls smirked. “Mostly he says she wants more gold. To build bigger and fancier Temples. And to keep the Keepers in the finest style.”
Another girl chimed in. “That’s his fifth wife. She’s younger than half his children. They’ve only been married three months, and I hear she’s pregnant already.”