The ballroom was much more festive, lit by four great chandeliers and dozens of candelabra. Inset into the marble floor was a huge replica of the Coravann crest, a six-pointed white star inside an oval of lapis lazuli. Sprays of deep blue flowers had been placed in white bowls throughout the ballroom, and curtains of the same colors hung at the ceiling-high windows along the western wall.
“How lovely this room is!” Kirra exclaimed to Lauren, who happened to be entering at the same time. “I can’t imagine that you don’t spend all day every day dancing, just to be in here.”
Lauren smiled but was quickly called away. Kirra passed a moment hoping Romar had been wrong in his prediction that no cavaliers would seek out the cold-hearted Casserah, and soon enough, Darryn Rappengrass was by her side.
“I always look first for Danalustrous red, and there you are,” he said. “Come dance with me. That will give me the strength I need to approach the hideous old dowagers that my mother insisted I court while I was here. But beauty first! Then duty.”
So that was fun. Kirra had decided that even Casserah would not have been able to resist Darryn, so she always allowed herself to enjoy his company. After that, she was approached by a succession of partners, some young and shy, some old and purposeful, all of them desirous to prove themselves worthy of a Danalustrous partnership. Kirra thought again of her threat to find Casserah a husband while she was making the summer circuit. So far she hadn’t made any progress. There wasn’t one of these men she would marry herself.
Well, one perhaps. No use thinking of him.
Romar did dance with her—twice—but flirted with her no more than he might have with any other serramarra that he did not know particularly well. This depressed her, though she tried to pretend it didn’t. Later she saw him lead first his niece onto the dance floor, and then Valri, which surprised her. She had never seen him exchange any but the most cursory conversation with the dark-haired queen. Then again, perhaps he had noticed, as many people had, that the only other man to ask Valri to dance was marlord Heffel Coravann. Romar had no doubt decided that things would look better if Valri did not seem to be granting all her favors to one man.
The ball was about two hours old when Kirra was approached by a stranger, a slim, beardless young man with light brown hair and an unaffected smile. He wore no immediately identifiable jewels or colors and looked like he might be a third or fourth son. Nobody important. Still, she liked the way he bowed to her, with an old-fashioned correctness, and his voice was strangely musical and pleasing.
“Would you do me the honor of a dance, serra?” he asked formally.
“I would. Thank you,” she said, and slipped into his arms.
It was the best dance of the evening. Perhaps the music was especially good for this one number, or perhaps this young man, who looked so unprepossessing, was simply extraordinarily skilled at putting his partner at ease. He moved with the grace of an athlete or a fighter, someone intimately acquainted with all the poses of his body, and he anticipated her every shift as if he could scan her mind. But there was nothing flashy or outrageous about their dance. Merely, it felt like they had discovered the pure joy of motion and were able to share it; it was as if they were extensions of the music, drumbeat for heartbeat, flute for breath. Kirra felt her delight showing on her face, and once she laughed out loud as he spun her with particular dexterity out of the way of an inept oncoming couple.
“You are a very good dancer,” she said, though they had accomplished most of the number in silence.
“With certain partners,” he replied.
“I have not seen you before tonight.”
A smile for that. “I am easily overlooked.”
“I am glad you decided to show yourself to me.”
The music came to a flourishing conclusion. He twirled her around once and then presented her with a deep bow. “To you and to no one else, serra.”
And then she knew. “Donnal,” she breathed.
He was laughing as he straightened up. “Serra,” he repeated.
“Oh, let’s do that again! It’s been years since my father made us take dancing lessons! I’d forgotten how much fun it was.”
He glanced around the room. “There are others who have more claim on your attention tonight.”
But her hand was on his arm, insistent. The music was starting up again. “One more. Please? And then you can turn yourself back into a bat or a butterfly or whatever you were to slip into the ballroom without a card of invitation and with a face no one would recognize.”
She knew he would not be able to resist her. If she asked him to, he would stay beside her all night or lurk in the shadows until she was free to grant him another five minutes of her time. She should perhaps send him to Amalie. The princess liked Donnal and would no doubt enjoy a respite from the fawning attention of all the ambitious lords.
No. She would keep Donnal beside her and not share him with anyone.
He bowed to her again and they slipped into the next dance—and then, when that one ended, a third. Anyone paying attention to serramarra Casserah would be starting to wonder about her strange partiality for an unknown suitor, but Kirra didn’t think it would hurt her sister’s credit any. Senneth had probably figured it out already and Romar—well, he might not have even noticed. Or cared if he had noticed. And Casserah was contrary enough to dance as long as she liked with whomever she pleased, be he the most eligible serramar in the Twelve Houses or the brother of the scullery maid. No one would think it strange.
But Donnal was more careful of her reputation than she was. After their third dance, they stood on the edge of the ballroom, catching their breath. “This should probably be where I leave you,” Donnal said.
“Oh, no, not yet! One more!”
“You’re supposed to be ensnaring potential allies for Danalustrous,” he reminded her. “Not spending time with me.”
“If it’s a waltz, you have to dance.”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Please.”
He never could refuse her. She could see the helplessness in his eyes and felt an ignoble spurt of satisfaction. “Only if it’s a waltz,” he said.
“Or even a polonaise,” she said.
But she had lost his attention. His predator’s instincts had swung his head around to track a running shape that darted through the great door and dove through the elegant crowd like a slim fish through colorful waters. Beside her, Kirra felt Donnal tense, then relax, as he recognized the figure. “Cammon,” he said. The boy headed straight for Senneth and whispered something in her ear.
“What’s wrong? Can you tell?” Kirra whispered. Across the width of the room, she watched Senneth spin toward the door and stand there waiting, her face grim, her hands curled into fists. “She doesn’t look afraid,” Kirra said. “Angry, maybe.”
“Senneth never looks afraid.”
Kirra could not help a slight laugh at that. “Even so, maybe I should go wait with Senneth.”
“No time,” Donnal whispered.
Suddenly, it was as if all the candles in the room guttered at once. An unseen wind sucked all the flames from the chandeliers and sent a gust of cold blowing across the room. There was a murmur of surprise from everyone in the ballroom as couples relaxed their embraces and fell apart, and matrons leaned over to ask each other questions. Then the candleflames reignited, burned several degrees higher; the whole room glittered with light, though the temperature remained oddly cool. Kirra, who had cast her eyes around to try to determine the source of the strange breeze, looked again at the huge doorway.
Now filled with a small cadre of women.
In the lead was a shortish, square-faced woman dressed entirely in black. Moonstones gleamed around her throat and on every finger as if to lighten the effect of her dark gown and her graying black hair, but in fact they only accentuated the deep-ness of the colors. Her bearing was so self-assured that it made up for her lack of height. She stood quite still at the entrance to the room and looked around her as if surveying a collection of her own serfs and vassals—people she knew, people she owned.
“Coralinda Gisseltess,” Kirra whispered.
Behind her stood a half dozen young girls dressed all in white, seeming to cast light against Coralinda’s darkness. They all stood demurely, hands before them pressed palm to palm, eyes downcast, unsmiling. “And a few of her novices,” Donnal replied.
For a moment, no one moved, no one spoke, not the guests in the ballroom, not the visitors at the door. Then a lone figure cut through the gaping couples, arrived before Coralinda, and gave her a respectfully deep bow. It was Heffel Coravann.
“Serra,” he said in his gruff voice. “Welcome to my house.”
Then there was a ripple of movement throughout the room, as if all the people present suddenly shook themselves awake from a moment of aimless dreaming. Maybe a quarter of the guests surged forward, toward the door, as if to greet the new arrival. The rest broke into small groups and backed toward the walls, whispering. The room was filled with a low buzz of conversation and that persistent, creeping chill. The orchestra sounded a few tentative notes but did not launch into another melody, apparently convinced no one would take to the dance floor again.
“I have to talk to Senneth,” Kirra said, and plunged across the room. Donnal followed.
Senneth was standing very still, exactly as Kirra had seen her last, except that she was turning her body infinitesimally to track Coralinda’s movements. Valri and Amalie stood behind her as if using Senneth’s body as a shield. Valri had taken the princess’s hand and clutched it in a grip that Kirra imagined must hurt. Valri’s normally pale face looked even whiter, almost frightened, but Amalie’s foremost emotion appeared to be curiosity. She stood on tiptoe and craned her neck and tried to peer around Senneth to get a better look at the woman who served the Pale Mother with such devotion. Cammon stood halfway between Senneth and Amalie, poised as if to leap to either one’s assistance. The notion made Kirra smile; he was such a slight boy, not much of a fighter. But his flecked eyes blazed with excitement. Clearly he thought this might be an evening of rare drama.
Senneth flicked Kirra a look as the other mystic arrived. “Now this was something I had not anticipated,” Senneth said, and her voice was composed though she still looked angry. “The woman is bold.”
Kirra turned so she could stand beside Senneth and watch the scene before her. Coralinda was progressing majestically into the room, one arm linked with Heffel’s. Her other hand was extended to press the fingers of all the people lined up to greet her, their own arms stretched out to touch her. “As is marlord Heffel,” Kirra said. “I would not have believed he would have invited her here.”
“She has not been interdicted. Only her brother,” Senneth replied. “There is no quarantine keeping her at Lumanen Convent.”
“There should be,” Cammon said darkly.
“Why? What has she done?” Amalie asked, still twisting to see around Senneth’s body. Kirra wondered how much her father had considered wise to tell her.
“Very little that can be traced to her,” Senneth said over her shoulder.
An inarticulate exclamation from Cammon. “She took Tayse! She was going to kill him!”
“We have no proof of that. At any rate, she didn’t harm him.”
“She is guilty of other crimes,” Valri said in a low voice.
“Yes, but what?” the princess asked.
Donnal answered. He had taken his own shape by now and no one in this particular group seemed surprised to see him at Kirra’s side. “She is recruiting an army of malcontents and fanatics. They guard her and her growing band of converts at the Lumanen Convent, not far from here. There is also some speculation that she sends them out to harass and eliminate mystics, whom she considers abominations. And she is trying to convince the rest of Gillengaria to fear and hate those with any claim to magic. She is a danger to those of us who are mystics, but it is hard to know what other threat she poses.”
“So far she has not spoken out against the king,” Senneth said.
“Except to say he endangers the kingdom by tolerating mystics,” Valri added swiftly.