Her other, contradictory, fear came from the magic casement’s vision of him dying in the goblin lodge. Was that awful fate now inevitable? Was that what kept him from her? Her great-grandfather had reputedly been driven mad by something he had seen in the casement. Was Rap to suffer the same cruel fate? Why, though, must he shun her? The days flew by and left no answers.
Two nights before Winterfest came the grand finale, the imperor’s ball. The guest list ran to thousands, although there were several categories of invitation and the festivities covered many precincts of varying opulence. The main affair alone included twelve ballrooms, seventeen orchestras, a continuing circus of performers, enough fine food to feed all Zark, and a hundred thousand candles. Eigaze had been absolutely right—the Kinvale affair was a child’s birthday party compared to this.
Guests and strayed sheep had been pouring in to the capital for days, and they included Princess Imperial Orosea and her husband, the Duke of Leesoft. Shandie vanished squealing into a scrimmage of cousins and stayed there, so that even he saw nothing of Rap anymore.
The great night came, and when his Imperial Majesty took a partner on his arm for the opening promenade, the only lady in the realm he could have chosen was the Queen of Krasnegar. Leesoft and Orosea fell into step behind them.
The tall old man was almost unrecognizable as the invalid Inos had first seen being carried around like a trophy of war. Now his color was back, his face had filled in and become more human. He was stronger than he had been for years, he insisted, and no one doubted that his grip on the Impire was as firm as it had ever been. The Dwanishian dispute was already settled; the legions would be vacating Qoble as soon as the passes opened. The Senate could not have passed the new Succession Act any faster on wheels.
His hair was trimmed short in military style, and he wore a uniform, although it was a designer uniform of kidskin and gold foil, not bullhide and bronze. As was her custom, Inos wore green, and tonight a very talkative sea-green satin that hissed and whispered all the time. The cut of her bodice was as daring as any in the hall—well, almost—and she was perfectly aware that no one outshone her. This was the culmination of the Hubban social season and of her year. In a brief three weeks she had conquered the capital of the Impire, and tonight was her night. She might go on to establish herself as Queen of Krasnegar, but even if she stayed in Hub she could never hope to retain her present rule as queen of the capital. In another month someone else would reign.
Honors were transitory, youth was fleeting, but this was her night.
Half the young men of the Impire were ready to fall at her feet, and the only man she wanted was not there.
Emshandar smiled approvingly at her as they began the procession. “It never ceases to amaze me,” he said whimsically, “how feminine beauty always manages to triumph over the worst outrages that dressmakers can commit!”
Inos granted him a maidenly blush—she was quite good at those now. “Your Majesty is most gracious.” She murmured an appreciation of the surroundings.
They paraded forward, acknowledging the smiles and salutes of the company, all of whom would in turn join on the end of the promenade. Emshandar made polite conversation about nothing . . .
“Any sign of Rap?” he asked quietly, his expression not changing.
Inos did not let her reaction reach the hand she rested on his jeweled vambrace. “None, Sire.”
The withered old lips smiled sadly. “I commanded his presence! So we see who rules this Impire, don’t we?”
More smiles. Nod to the new consul and his pretty wife.
“Do you know Death Bird?” Emshandar muttered. Confidential remarks in Hub were usually made with minimum lip movement.
“No, Sire, I don’t think so.”
“A goblin, the one Kalkor brought. He has some other name, but the wardens call him Death Bird, for some reason.”
Inos beamed at Kade, being squired by Senator Epoxague. “Then I do know him. Rap called him Little Chicken and said he was his slave.”
Emshandar was still looking everywhere but at Inos. “Olybino is enraged. He says the goblin has been spying on military training camps, disguised as an imp.”
She barely contained an unseemly snigger. “How do you disguise a goblin as an imp? Boil him in strong tea?” She acknowledged Marshal Ithy with one of her larger smiles.
“With sorcery.”
“Oh!” She apologized. Then a few implications registered and she broke the rules by looking straight at the imperor and speaking plainly. ”That’s no behavior for a guest!” Spying, when there was a war on? Goblins and winter together had driven the XIIth Legion back from the pass, the most humiliating setback the Impire had suffered in years. She knew that reinforcements were being sent.
Emshandar’s eyes twinkled, even as he nodded respectfully to the widow of a famous senator. “Rap asked permission, and I said he could do anything he wanted. That was my big mistake, you see! I should have excluded this evening from that sufferance.” They had reached the orchestra. As lead couple they veered to the right . . .
He chuckled. “I also told Olybino to complain directly to Rap about it if he had worries. That son of a mule went chalky pale and disappeared!”
The first real dance of the evening she had promised to Tiffy, and it was a brisk fandango, designed to clear the floor of older folk. It was also brisk enough to produce a marked list in Inos’s coiffure. With a hasty apology to the next promised partner, she headed for the powder room to put things to rights.
As she was returning, sweeping along a dim corridor, she suddenly sensed that he was there.
Rap !
She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was certain. She stopped and stood still, keeping her eyes lowered. Somehow she located him, in the shadows of a doorway. Minutes seeped by. No one else came, there was no sound except the muffled beat of the orchestra, and her heart was louder than that. But she knew he was there, watching.
Very slowly she raised her head. At first, she dared not look straight at him. It was like meeting a wild animal, a deer or a fox. If she made a sudden move she would scare him away. He would be gone in an instant.
He was as well dressed as any man in the palace, better than she had ever imagined him. Silver-buckled shoes, snowy tights—including a frilly codpiece as outrageous as any young gallant’s—ruffled cravat and cutaway velvet coat . . .
And by all the Gods his hair was flat!
Finally she met his eyes—wild, tortured eyes, staring at her with a mute, unbearable longing that twisted her heart. The tattoos were missing.
He had done all this for her, she knew. She could never have conceived Rap dressing up like this, even if he had done it with sorcery.
Still moving very gently, raising a hand as she might coax a squirrel to a crust . . . “Don’t speak,” she said softly. “Just come and dance.”
He nodded and swallowed hard. He came forward timorously, as if she were a soap bubble vision that might vanish if he touched her, or as if he feared to waken himself with any sudden move. She shook her head when he seemed about to say something.
She took out her dance card and ripped it in two, dropping the pieces. She grinned at him invitingly, and he managed a small quirk of a smile in response, and then she knew that she had won—it was going to be all right.
She felt the callouses on his fingers as he took her hand.
He led her to the ballroom.
Her promised partner was waiting. He blanched when he saw her with a faun, and Inos ignored him. Rap was going to dance with her!
Sorcerers made wonderful dance partners, graceful and flawless. He never took his eyes off Inos. No matter how complex the pattern, or who else he might be whirling or leading, his gaze was always on her. He never spoke. He did not smile, he just stared, with that same mute longing.
He danced like an elf. Fingers touched fingers, hand touched shoulder, arm around waist . . . the night flew away, and she danced with Rap. Minuets and sarabands, and she danced with Rap. Polonaise, tarantella, danced with Rap. Gavottes and courantes and mazurkas. Rap!
She hardly spoke, either, all night long. She smiled to wide-eyed acquaintances, she spun around with men she knew or didn’t know, but always she was dancing with Rap. And she knew that whatever else the Gods might do, They could not call back this night.