Realizing I ought to be circulating as well, I turned--and found myself confronted by the Marquis of Shevraeth.
"My dear Countess," he said with a grand bow. "Please bolster my declining prestige by joining me in this dance." I thought, then out loud I said, "It's a tartelande. From back then."
"Which I studied up on all last week," he said, offering his arm.
I took it and flushed right up to my pearl-lined headdress. Though we had spoken often, of late, at various parties, this was the first time we had danced together since Savona's ball, my second night at Athanarel. As we joined the circle I sneaked a glance at Elenet. She was dancing with one of the ambassadors.
A snap of drums and a lilting tweet caused everyone to take position, hands high, right foot pointed. The musicians reeled out a merry tune to which we dipped and turned and stepped in patterns round one another and those behind and beside us.
In between measures I stole looks at my partner, bracing for some annihilating comment about my red face, but he seemed preoccupied as we paced our way through the dance. The Renselaeuses, completely separate from Remalna five hundred years before, had dressed differently, just as they had spoken a different language. In keeping, Shevraeth wore a long tunic that was more like a robe, colored a sky blue, with black and white embroidery down the front and along the wide sleeves. It was flattering to his tall, slender form. His hair was tied back with a diamond-and-nightstar clasp, and a bluefire gem glittered in his ear.
We turned and touched hands, and I realized he had broken his reverie and was looking at me somewhat quizzically. I had been caught staring.
I said with as careless a smile as I could muster, "I'll wager you're the most comfortable of the men here tonight."
"Those tight waistcoats do look uncomfortable, but I rather like the baldrics," he said, surveying my brother, whom the movement of the dance had placed just across from us.
"My dear Countess," he said with a grand bow. "Please bolster my declining prestige by joining me in this dance." I thought, then out loud I said, "It's a tartelande. From back then."
"Which I studied up on all last week," he said, offering his arm.
I took it and flushed right up to my pearl-lined headdress. Though we had spoken often, of late, at various parties, this was the first time we had danced together since Savona's ball, my second night at Athanarel. As we joined the circle I sneaked a glance at Elenet. She was dancing with one of the ambassadors.
A snap of drums and a lilting tweet caused everyone to take position, hands high, right foot pointed. The musicians reeled out a merry tune to which we dipped and turned and stepped in patterns round one another and those behind and beside us.
In between measures I stole looks at my partner, bracing for some annihilating comment about my red face, but he seemed preoccupied as we paced our way through the dance. The Renselaeuses, completely separate from Remalna five hundred years before, had dressed differently, just as they had spoken a different language. In keeping, Shevraeth wore a long tunic that was more like a robe, colored a sky blue, with black and white embroidery down the front and along the wide sleeves. It was flattering to his tall, slender form. His hair was tied back with a diamond-and-nightstar clasp, and a bluefire gem glittered in his ear.
We turned and touched hands, and I realized he had broken his reverie and was looking at me somewhat quizzically. I had been caught staring.
I said with as careless a smile as I could muster, "I'll wager you're the most comfortable of the men here tonight."
"Those tight waistcoats do look uncomfortable, but I rather like the baldrics," he said, surveying my brother, whom the movement of the dance had placed just across from us.
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Court Duel ]
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