“Until then.”
Lerial makes his way back to his quarters at a measured pace, thinking. He is more than a little confused by Mykel. While he can understand Mykel’s inclinations, he wonders why the youngest brother is so outspoken, when both Rhamuel and Atroyan are so much more cautious in their language. Does he really feel that way … or is it a way of removing himself from any consideration as a successor to Atroyan? And then there was the remark about puppetry, offhand, and yet said ironically. Because he feels his father made him feel like a marionette on strings? One thing continues to remain true, and that is that nothing in Swartheld is quite what it seems to be, or that what it seems to be is far from all that it is.
Once he is back at his rooms, he immediately checks with Polidaar, but there are no messages or problems. So, after washing up and donning one of his newly cleaned uniforms, Lerial departs from his quarters. He takes a narrow staircase in the middle of the palace, well away from the duke’s personal quarters, to head up to the fourth level, which, for some reason, is where the Crimson Ballroom is located, on the southwest end of the west wing of the palace. As he walks up the steps, he raises a concealment, only after letting his order-senses let him know when no one is near the stairway door. Then he continues to the west wing, where he positions himself outside the vaulted arch leading into the ballroom. From what he can tell, it is about a third before seventh glass when he arrives. There are already a number of people in the ballroom. That, he can sense. He can also hear the musicians playing, but a slow melody unsuited to dancing.
A couple arrives, and they are greeted by Dafaal, at least, from the voice and posture, Lerial believes that to be the functionary.
“Minister Cyphret … welcome to the ball.”
Behind them is another couple, and several others are walking toward the ballroom from the top of the grand staircase. Others seem to be standing around the top of the staircase. Lerial eases along the side of the corridor back toward the staircase, where he takes up a position behind one of the ornate stone balustrades that curve away from the top of the steps and all the way around the balcony overlooking the staircase. From there he hopes to overhear what at least some of the people might say.
“… ridiculous … climbing three flights of steps to a ballroom…”
“… there’s more of a breeze up here … cooler…”
“… nuisance … don’t care if he owes something to the young heir of Cigoerne…”
“… yes, dear … you look wonderful … and we’re only a bit early. I’m only a subcommander, and that means I mustn’t be late…”
Lerial wonders who the officer is, because his voice is unfamiliar … but then with close to ten battalions in and around Swartheld, there have to be at least several senior officers that he has not met.
“… said to be young and ruthless in battle…”
“… so bad about that in dealing with that barbarian from Heldya?”
He can also sense that the women all wear ankle-length dresses or gowns, the first time he has seen that in Swartheld, but it would have been the same in Cigoerne.
“… just like the duke … ball with little notice … have to come…”
“… you like being invited … don’t complain … be far worse if you weren’t…”
While Lerial has hoped to glean at least some passing information, he only hears what he had already half expected to hear, and at just slightly before seventh glass, he slips to the side of the corridor almost in a corner and drops the concealment, then follows a white-haired couple—something he can see since the woman has let her head scarf drop into a filmy shawl.
Once Dafaal ushers the older pair into the ballroom, he turns to Lerial. “If you would wait just a moment, ser,” says Dafaal. “You and the duke must be announced.”
“Whatever is necessary,” replies Lerial.
A young-faced but gray-haired man with a younger woman approaches.
“Minister Dohaan, Lady…” offers Dafaal before Lerial can step back, “since you are both here, might I present you to Lord Lerial.”
Dohaan? Oh … the minister for roads and harbors.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lord Lerial.” Dohaan smiles politely and inclines his head.
His consort merely inclines her head, letting the head scarf slip off her black hair and around her shoulders, permissible inside and at a ball.
“And I’m pleased to meet the minister responsible for highways and harbors, especially since we have no harbors whatsoever … and to see you, Lady.”