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Gentle reader, let it not be said that the rarest jewels in Tortall are mere stones, magical or otherwise. This social season proves already to be a veritable feast for hungry eyes and yearning hearts, the eligible lords and ladies as sparkling as an array of gems. Where exactly they will be set in the tiara of society remains to be seen, as rubies seek to cozy up to gold, amethysts seek to make jewels out of stones, and an emerald seeks a polished cabochon ready to share in responsibility and prestige.
…
The first ball of the season was to be held at the Corus home of the Baron and Baroness of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau. The Baron and Baroness had long enjoyed the King and Queen’s favor; it was an open secret that the King and the Baroness had been lovers in their youth, and a much better-kept secret that the Queen and Baron allowed them a continued dalliance in their middle age.
All four paragons had a keen interest in the movements of the eligible youth of the realm, for the marriage mart had real consequences for the future of politics and diplomacy in Tortall. Alliances between houses improved the positions of some subjects while complicating those of others. The power and loyalty of each fiefdom waxed and waned with each match made, each heir born. And these things were delicate—feelings changed, passions raged, fortunes turned.
The King and Queen had secured a betrothal for their son, Prince Roald of Conté, to Princess Chisakami of the Yamani Isles, only to have her perish in an earthquake. After an appropriate mourning period they had renegotiated an alliance with Princess Shinkokami of the Yamani Isles, and they expected the imminent arrival of the new princess and her retinue to have great effect on this year’s season. There would be new dance partners, new fashions, new political ideas; this match ushered in a new era for Tortall.
The newly-minted Duke Nealan of Queenscove hoped that the Yamani delegation’s appearance would take eyes off of him. Though he was in need of a wife, he did not look forward to being descended upon by eligible young women and their mothers jockeying for position. He knew his title was enviable, and that he would be sought-after, but he would much rather be reading. Or even practicing sword-forms. Anything, really, other than attending every social function of the season in order to sell himself like a cut of beef at market.
“You look as if you are attempting to find an escape route from this carriage,” Lord Cleon of Kennan said. He sat across from Neal in the luxuriously upholstered cab. His posture was easy and open, but the fact that he had freshly cut and styled his red curls betrayed his own anxiety about the ball. He sought a bride this season as well, though his reasons were different from Neal’s—Kennan was in dire need of coin after three straight years of flooding and crop failure.
“I am simply reviewing the pertinent details of my situation,” Neal replied.
“That now that you are a duke, you will likely be set upon by a rabid pack of ladies as soon as you enter the ballroom?”
“That the arrival of the Yamani contingent might shake things up a bit; I know a little of the Tortallan women who are out this season, but I know nothing of the princess’s retinue. Perhaps there are more options than I am aware of.” Neal went to run his hand through his hair then jerked it away as he felt the hair oil his sister Jessamine had insisted he use. She had selected his suit and fussed with his hair for far too long before allowing him to leave. It was jealousy along with nerves; she longed to be out in society. “All the dressing and the dancing are a distraction from the purpose of these things. They are an opportunity to meet, evaluate, and select a partner for producing and heir and running Queenscove effectively, which is now my charge.”
“The dressing and the dancing are supposed to be fun,” Cleon said. “If we have to marry for practical reasons rather than love, we can at least enjoy the parties.”
Neal sighed.
“I grant you that there are worse ways to spend an evening.”
Cleon grinned.
“We could be fighting Scanrans.”
“Or mucking out stables.”
The streets were brightly lit in this section of Corus, lamps winking on every corner. The homes were large, built expressly for entertaining. The Queenscoves had a home of this kind, but Neal hadn’t visited it in years. Lately he had been spending most of his time in Queenscove proper, trying to get his head around the paperwork and the geography of the place. When not in Queenscove he’d been in his father’s suite in the palace, going through his belongings and meeting with the king about the duchy’s obligations to the crown. There had hardly been any time to grieve, let alone really prepare for a social season. Neal had the sense that if he stood still for more than five minutes he would completely fall apart.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Cleon said, voice gentle. “You could take another year to… mourn.”
Neal sighed.
“I know. But I need an heir. And I need the help. Ancient noble estates don’t run themselves.”
Neal’s mother, Lady Winnamine of Queenscove, had done much of the running of the fief while Duke Baird attended to his duties as Chief Healer. Now she was desolate without her husband, hardly able to leave her bed. Her lamentation was disturbing to Neal; he had always thought of his mother as a stalwart soldier, raised as she had been by a general. She had bustled through the deaths of her other sons, working herself to exhaustion to distract herself. But her love for Baird ran deep, and his death seemed to have cracked something open inside of her. When she tried to go over ledgers, she drifted to looking out the window, tears running down her cheeks.
Jessamine had been keen to marry before their father’s death, and she still appeared to be, though she was still under age. She helped Neal as much as she could, as she had been studying under her mother all the arts she might need to make a good wife and partner for a nobleman, but when she inevitably did marry, she would be swept away from Queenscove to some other estate to help them.
The clip-clopping of horse’s hooves slowed as the carriage stopped in front of the Corus residence of the Baron and Baroness of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau. Cleon exited the carriage first. Neal took the brief moment of solitude to fortify himself, closing his eyes and taking a breath—in, hold, out.
When he emerged from the carriage, he saw the house’s handsome facade was decorated with flowering vines and glowing lanterns. There could be no doubt that a grand social event was being held within; the sound of music and laughter rang out to the street through the large front door.
There were two people on the front steps. One was a servant, ready to admit guests. He stood perfectly still, the picture of a diligent attendant. The other was Lady Keladry of Mindelan, who was similarly straight-backed and poised. She wore a simple sky-blue gown over her powerful frame. Her hair was styled in its usual sleek brown bob.
“Lady Keladry, my evening blossom, your placid presence is soothing to my stormy soul.” Cleon bowed dramatically to their mutual friend.
“Hello Cleon,” Kel said. Neal was not quite sure whether Kel and Cleon wanted to be lovers, were actively lovers, or used to be lovers and were now trying once again to be friends. There was some feeling there, but it was uneven. Cleon was effusive; Kel was reserved. It was the kind of thing that Neal would usually enjoy spending energy to suss out, but lately…
“When did you get here?” Neal asked.
Kel shrugged. “I’ve been here. I thought you might benefit from seeing a friendly face first.”
“Indeed. Thank you.”
“Have you graced the party yet with your presence?” Cleon asked.
“I said my hellos, noticed you weren’t here yet, then came outside to track down my comrades. Your absence is noted.”
“Exactly what I want to hear,” groaned Neal.
“I think you’ll get plenty of attention tonight.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Kel pursed her lips.
“You’ll be alright. I’m here for you.”
“Well, I am unfortunately not here for you,” joked Cleon. “I am here for the dancing and the selecting of my bride. But if it really gets horrid I will intervene.”
Kel led them up the stairs to where the servant opened the doors onto a grand entryway. It was very warm inside compared to the chill of the evening; the nights were not yet warm as they would be in summer. A pair of servants opened a set of ornately carved doors right in front of them to reveal the ballroom.
The room was filled with music, color, and courtiers. The far side of the room was made up of floor to ceiling windows that looked out upon a veranda. On the right there was a string quartet playing a spritely quadrille for the guests. A swirl of people was dancing in the center of the room, with others clustered at the edges of the dance floor.
“They are all staring at us,” said Cleon.
“They’ve never seen hair so red, or a lady so tall,” Neal joked weakly.
“They’re looking at you,” Keladry murmured.
It was true; Neal commanded many of the eyes in the room. He could hear his name repeated among the chatter that pecked above the music and clinking of glasses.
“You could leave now, but it would be ridiculous,” Kel said.
“I’m not going to leave now,” Neal said, swallowing. “I’m going to go pay my respects to the baron and baroness.”
He tried to hold his head high as he strode over to where Alanna and George were doing their duty as hosts, mingling with guests. As soon as they noticed Neal, Cleon, and Kel approaching, the baron and baroness made their excuses and turned to the three young people.
Alanna was wearing tails and a purple waistcoat, amethysts winking at her earlobes, short copper hair brushed to shining. It was strange to see her so presentable; the venerable Lioness was not often caught in her finest, preferring to muck around in riding clothes. George wore a simpler suit, but his mischievous smile dazzled.
“Glad you came, Queenscove,” said Alanna. Neal winced.
“I can’t honestly say the same, but I can tell you’ve put on a wonderful party.”
“It had better be,” George said. “I’ve been planning for a month. Make sure you try the spun sugar bird’s nests; our cook’s mighty proud of ‘em.”
“Oh we will,” said Cleon.
“I am most surprised to see you, Lady Keladry,” Alanna said. “I didn’t think you were interested in marriage.”
“I’m here to support Neal and Cleon. I’m not here to find a match.”
“Just don’t discount it. There is joy to be had in your work, but there is also joy to be had in a marriage bed.”
Alanna turned to kiss George, who grinned and put his arm around her waist.
“And in friendship, and in physical activity, and in the natural world, all of which I revel in,” Kel retorted. “I am full of joy.”
Alanna frowned.
“You don’t look it.”
“That’s just my face.”
“I can’t allow you to impugn Lady Keladry’s face, Lady Alanna,” Cleon said. “And I’d rather not miss out on any more drinking and dancing. Thank you for the invitation, my lord, my lady.” He nodded at the baron and baroness, then held out his arm to Kel. “Spun sugar bird nest, my sparrow?”
Kel rolled her eyes.
“Coming, Neal?” she asked.
“Go,” said Alanna. “Mingle. Fend off mamas. You’re the catch of the season, Gods help you.”