she hadn’t noticed Dayrne, and she mentioned it.
“Mistress,” he grinned, “I was sneaking through streets and back alleys when you
were still playing with dolls.”
“But you got caught,” she reminded haughtily.
He nodded. “Everyone gets caught sometime.”
She stamped into her boots and pointed to Daxus who showed signs of stirring.
“Well, let’s not get caught tonight. This package is for Daphne.”
Dayrne’s fist sent the watchman back to sleep.
“Lady Chenaya, daughter of Lowan Vigeles, cousin to His Highness Prince
Kadakithis.”
Lu-Broca, the Palace’s major-domo, smiled graciously as he announced her arrival
to the festival guests. He made a curt bow of personal greeting which she
acknowledged with a nod.
Five steps descended from the entrance to the floor of the Grand Hall. She took
them slowly, noting the tables piled with food and drink, the musicians and
dancers, the faces that turned in her direction.
It was a good mix of the city’s upper class; Rankan rubbed shoulders with Ilsig
and Beysib in stark contrast to the intense street rivalries. On the far side of
the hall Hakiem the storyteller-turned-Beysib-advisor stood in conversation with
several guests. Nearby, listening discreetly, was the man called Lastel; Chenaya
knew little of him save that he was apparently quite rich. There were others:
Gonfred the Goldsmith, Dr. Nadeesha, Master Melilot the Scribe. There were also
lots of Beysibs she didn’t recognize; they all looked alike to her.
Then she spied Kadakithis. Shupansea, the Beysib ruler, hung on his arm. It