An odd chirruping sound overhead made her jump; she looked up, and met the bright, shining eyes of a bird with plumage as fantastic as anything she had ever created in her garden. It chirped at her again, and before she could even mink to call it to her hand, it flew down to her shoulder, and from there, to the hand she held automatically outstretched. She began to pet it, a smile coming to her lips without an effort. It had a long, sweeping tail, a high, upraised crest, and pale pink feathers as soft as thistledown. It leaned into her caress and closed its eyes with pleasure, crooning musically to itself.
A moment later, a young doe stepped out of the shadows and begged for a caress of its own. As Rena continued to look around, she spotted more tamed birds and animals wandering among the guests—mostly being ignored, which was a pity, for they seemed to crave attention and petting.
There must be a spell on them to keep them away from the refreshments, and to keep them from soiling someone’s clothing, she thought, practicality intruding on the romance. And sure enough, just as that occurred to her, the bird took off and sought a perch a little distance away, making a discreet deposit before returning to her hand.
This was exactly the kind of fete Rena had read about, from the old days, when the elven lords were secure in their power and before they had begun to feud among themselves again. Was Lord Ardeyn trying to imply something by this?
Oh, probably not; he’s probably just trying to impress the High Lords who remember what the old days were like.
“Would my lady care for wine?”
Rena controlled herself this time, and did not jump or let out a squeak when the voice came from behind her. The doe scampered away and the bird took off for the branches as she turned, to find herself confronted by a creature that did not in the least resemble the human slave she had expected.
Instead, the servant politely offering a tray of exquisitely fluted crystal goblets had the head of a stork, feather-covered hands and arms, and two definite claws instead of feet. But the feathers were brilliant blue and scarlet, the head boasted a crest never worn by any stork Rena had ever seen, and the body beneath the tunic in Hernalth colors seemed human enough.
“Yes,” she said, as the bird-man cocked his head to one side and examined her with one bright eye. “I believe I would. Thank you.”
The bird-man extended the tray, gracefully, and stalked, like a stork wading through water, off toward another guest. Rena blinked and watched him go.
After a moment, it occurred to her that her mouth felt terribly dry, and she sipped her wine. It didn’t taste like anything she had ever drunk before, but that was no surprise; elven feasts and fetes were full of these little subtleties. The wine was faintly sweet, with a perfume like the flowers; it tingled on the tongue, and left a crisp, refreshing aftertaste behind.
As her eyes became accustomed to the light, and she began to distinguish the servers from the guests, it seemed that there were no openly human servants here tonight. They had all been transformed by illusion into half-bird or half-animal creatures. Or even half-insect; she caught sight of one with huge, faceted eyes, begemmed antennae, and gently waving butterfly wings. It seemed that Lord Ardeyn was making a deliberate attempt to conjure up the glory days of conquest, when human slaves were never allowed into the presence of their masters without some illusion or disguise to cloak their nature.
As long as she had the wineglass in her hand, none of the tamed birds or animals would approach her; when she gave the empty glass to another half-bird servant, a fox came out of the trees and rubbed against her legs like a cat. She bent down to pet it, and it arched its back against her outstretched hand.
She would have been perfectly happy to stay at the edge of the “woods” and play with the animals—
But if Father finds me here, instead of out there, he’ll be angry with me.
Glumly she accepted another glass of wine, and tossed it off without pausing to admire the taste, hoping to drink down some courage with the sparkling vintage. Then, with much reluctance, she made her way toward the center of the glade, working her way through the strolling guests in their rainbow-hued costumes with some difficulty. No one seemed to even notice she was there; she might just as well have been one of the servants.
There was a cluster of multicolored lights there, illuminating a small number of musicians and a group of people whose understated elegance told her without words that they were very important indeed. Only a person of supreme importance could afford to look unimportant at a gathering like this one.
Lord Tylar was among them, managing to look dignified, although Rena knew from his very faint frown that he was vexed about something. Maybe he’s annoyed that he overdressed? Whatever it was, the frown did not clear away when she appeared, standing uncertainly just within his line of sight, so it was either something she had nothing to do with, or she was the cause and her mere appearance had not set things straight.
Whatever it was that had brought that frown to his face, if it was her fault, she would probably find out about it when they arrived home—unless she did something else that was worse between then and now.
He gestured to her abruptly, and she managed to make her way through the crush to his side, still, as far as she could tell, without anyone noticing that she was there.
He took her arm as soon as she was near enough, and pulled her through a gap between two of the other guests. She found herself standing beside him, and facing two men, one young, one very old—she knew that the second was very old because he actually showed the signs of age. No elven lord ever did that until he was near his own end. No matter what the humans were led to believe, elves were not immortal—though to short-lived humans, they probably seemed that way. Both men were engrossed in conversation with three ladies, one of them the vivacious Katarina an Vines, who was smiling raptly up into the younger man’s face.
“Lord Ardeyn, Lord Edres, may I present my daughter, Sheyrena?” Lord Tylar said into the first break in the conversation.
The older man smiled into her eyes; the younger bowed over her hand without looking at her at all. Lord Ardeyn’s attention was fixed entirely on Katarina to the point of ignoring everything else—not that Rena could blame him. Why would anyone even look at her, when Katarina was in the same room?
“Charmed,” Lord Ardeyn said absently, then resumed his conversation with Katarina, who had no need of cosmetics or jewels to enhance her beauty.
“I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear,” Lord Edres said, taking her hand as quickly as Lord Ardeyn had dropped it. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled at her. “I hope you will enjoy our little fete.” He actually kissed her hand, as Rena blushed with confusion, then released it and turned to her father.
“You have a most charming child, Tylar,” the old man said, transferring his smile from the daughter to the father. “Sweet, modest, fresh and innocent I am sure she will make a good match for you.”
That was clearly a dismissal, and Lord Tylar was not too dense to know it
“That is my hope, my lord,” Lord Tylar replied, and with a tug on Rena’s arm, took her out of the circle of Ardeyn’s intimates.
She cringed inside, waiting to hear his immediate censure, but to her immense relief, Lord Tylar was not ready to take her head off for not captivating the guest of honor.
“That went better than I expected,” he said quietly, as he continued to draw her along to some new destination. Fortunately for her neck, he was important enough that people noticed her trailing train, and did not step on it. “Lord Edres seems to like you. I suppose you must remind him of his daughter.”
Oh, charming, I remind him of a half-wit, who can’t even dress herself without help.
“I didn’t really hope that Ardeyn would pay you any attention; it seems that other girl was one of the first to arrive, and he hasn’t left her side all evening.” Lord Tylar made a sound that for any other man might have been taken as a small sigh of regret. “Well, I can’t fault his taste. You’re hardly any competition for that beauty.”
Even though she had thought that herself, it hurt to hear it from her father. Now she blushed again, but this time with shame.