out-drinking
him.
She watched the fire juggler again, and
there was a bard, a real live bard brought over from Eliband. This
was a rare treat; they were master singers and storytellers, who
trained for years at some great academy across the sea, and put
Garovan minstrels to shame. This one sang lengthy, ribald songs,
nearly without pausing for breath, and changing the words to mock
any noble who ventured too close, much to their delight.
A balding, dark-skinned man wearing a
glittering red robe appeared at one point, casting sparkling flames
into the air seemingly from his fingertips. Amira wondered for a
moment if he had the ember like she did, but his fires were just a
conjurer’s trick. A green-eyed woman with hair down to her knees
and skin painted gold, wearing little but sheer silk, whipped and
spun a long tendril of multicolored fabric in dizzying patterns.
All the menfolk watched her with interest. Even Dardan, until he
saw Amira looking at him. His cheeks flushed and he turned his back
on the dancer.
When they finished eating and watching the
singers and dancers and magicians, Dardan worked up his courage and
haltingly invited her back to the ballroom for dancing. She
accepted gladly and let him lead on, her toes and fingertips
tingling with excitement.
The formal dances had already begun when
they arrived, and they squeezed in. Amira had only learned a little
of the formal court dances, but the rest wasn’t too hard to pick
up. She spun and twirled between numerous partners, losing sight of
Dardan before suddenly colliding with him again. He gritted his
teeth in concentration and moved stiffly—so much for the hope that
he might be a brilliant dance partner—but Amira found the whole
thing delightful anyway, as she twirled beneath the glittering
chandeliers.
Later dances proved more complicated; Amira
had to apologize several times for stepping on feet. She didn’t
want to stop, but soon she took pity on her victims and guided
Dardan to the edge of the room.
“That was exhilarating,” Amira remarked,
catching her breath.
“Dancing is not normally my favored pastime,
as I’m sure was obvious. But I must admit, I did enjoy it.” Dardan
paused; he’d had a moment of confidence there, Amira saw, but it
faded as he looked at her again. “Um… would you—perhaps a separate
dance?”
They found a section of the ballroom away
from the long paired lines of the formal dances, where couples
moved about with no order at all. This time Amira led the way, and
soon she and Dardan held one another, moving slowly with the music
that drifted down from above.
This was what she’d dreamed of. The
golden room, the rich attire, and the sweet melodies all conspired
to intoxicate her. The wine had helped, too, but this was a feeling
far beyond simple inebriation. She sent countless tiny prayers to
the Aspect of Joy as she and Dardan danced.
The magic of it was interrupted only when
someone bumped roughly into them. Another young man, his hair a bit
mussed, eyes glazed and face flush from too much wine, barely kept
his balance as he ricocheted off Dardan. He turned to glare at
Amira’s partner. “Watch yourself, man!” he called out, in much too
harsh a tone. His own partner, a pale young lady in blue, looked
mortified.
“My apologies,” Dardan said curtly. He bowed
slightly, first to the other lady and then to the man who’d jostled
him.
The drunken young lord glowered, his
stillness standing out amidst the scores of whirling couples around
him. The pale lady tugged at his hand, and he resentfully turned
away. “Cowardly lout,” he said, much too loudly to be anything but
a deliberate insult.
Dardan did not go red, as Amira might have
expected a young man to do. He merely rolled his eyes, took Amira’s
hand, and led her to another part of the floor, where they resumed
dancing. “My apologies, my lady, for interrupting the dance.”
“Not at all,” she said. Dardan suddenly
looked different; less like
him.
She watched the fire juggler again, and
there was a bard, a real live bard brought over from Eliband. This
was a rare treat; they were master singers and storytellers, who
trained for years at some great academy across the sea, and put
Garovan minstrels to shame. This one sang lengthy, ribald songs,
nearly without pausing for breath, and changing the words to mock
any noble who ventured too close, much to their delight.
A balding, dark-skinned man wearing a
glittering red robe appeared at one point, casting sparkling flames
into the air seemingly from his fingertips. Amira wondered for a
moment if he had the ember like she did, but his fires were just a
conjurer’s trick. A green-eyed woman with hair down to her knees
and skin painted gold, wearing little but sheer silk, whipped and
spun a long tendril of multicolored fabric in dizzying patterns.
All the menfolk watched her with interest. Even Dardan, until he
saw Amira looking at him. His cheeks flushed and he turned his back
on the dancer.
When they finished eating and watching the
singers and dancers and magicians, Dardan worked up his courage and
haltingly invited her back to the ballroom for dancing. She
accepted gladly and let him lead on, her toes and fingertips
tingling with excitement.
The formal dances had already begun when
they arrived, and they squeezed in. Amira had only learned a little
of the formal court dances, but the rest wasn’t too hard to pick
up. She spun and twirled between numerous partners, losing sight of
Dardan before suddenly colliding with him again. He gritted his
teeth in concentration and moved stiffly—so much for the hope that
he might be a brilliant dance partner—but Amira found the whole
thing delightful anyway, as she twirled beneath the glittering
chandeliers.
Later dances proved more complicated; Amira
had to apologize several times for stepping on feet. She didn’t
want to stop, but soon she took pity on her victims and guided
Dardan to the edge of the room.
“That was exhilarating,” Amira remarked,
catching her breath.
“Dancing is not normally my favored pastime,
as I’m sure was obvious. But I must admit, I did enjoy it.” Dardan
paused; he’d had a moment of confidence there, Amira saw, but it
faded as he looked at her again. “Um… would you—perhaps a separate
dance?”
They found a section of the ballroom away
from the long paired lines of the formal dances, where couples
moved about with no order at all. This time Amira led the way, and
soon she and Dardan held one another, moving slowly with the music
that drifted down from above.
This was what she’d dreamed of. The
golden room, the rich attire, and the sweet melodies all conspired
to intoxicate her. The wine had helped, too, but this was a feeling
far beyond simple inebriation. She sent countless tiny prayers to
the Aspect of Joy as she and Dardan danced.
The magic of it was interrupted only when
someone bumped roughly into them. Another young man, his hair a bit
mussed, eyes glazed and face flush from too much wine, barely kept
his balance as he ricocheted off Dardan. He turned to glare at
Amira’s partner. “Watch yourself, man!” he called out, in much too
harsh a tone. His own partner, a pale young lady in blue, looked
mortified.
“My apologies,” Dardan said curtly. He bowed
slightly, first to the other lady and then to the man who’d jostled
him.
The drunken young lord glowered, his
stillness standing out amidst the scores of whirling couples around
him. The pale lady tugged at his hand, and he resentfully turned
away. “Cowardly lout,” he said, much too loudly to be anything but
a deliberate insult.
Dardan did not go red, as Amira might have
expected a young man to do. He merely rolled his eyes, took Amira’s
hand, and led her to another part of the floor, where they resumed
dancing. “My apologies, my lady, for interrupting the dance.”
“Not at all,” she said. Dardan suddenly
looked different; less like
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