Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [37]
"Tell me, Servant of Naamah," the woman said laughing, her silver mask askew on her lovely face, "Who does your costume represent? We have a bet, my brother and I."
I inclined my head to them, raising my arms so the scarlet ribbons trailed from my wrists. "Mara, my lady; Naamah's daughter, and Kushiel's handmaiden."
"I told you!" he said to her in drunken triumph.
The woman laughed again, brushing my veil with her fingertips. She was close enough that I could feel the heat of her body and smell joie sweet on her breath. "Then I shall have to pay the penalty for losing," she whispered. "We already agreed upon the settlement. When you receive my proposal, remember there is a debt of honor at stake."
"My lady," I said, struggling against dizziness. "I will remember it."
They laughed and moved on. Gaspar Trevalion in his Eremite's costume shook his mock-bearded head at me. "Delaunay would be proud," he said wryly. "I think."
"Mayhap." Would that Mara's accoutrements included a fan, I thought; I could use a cool breeze. "My lord, the Serenissiman has the right of it, and there is joie to be drunk this night. Will you call upon me before you leave the City of Elua? It would please me greatly to offer you my hospitality ere you return home.”
"I would be honored," Gaspar promised, bowing.
By this time, joie and wine flowed freely and the fête had reached the height of gaiety. I cannot begin to count the number of lords and ladies of the realm with whom I danced, bantered and flirted, nor the number of inquiries, discreet and overt, I received. I heeded the advice I had given Fortun, and made promises to none. It was a good hour before my diligent chevalier found his way back to my side, looking somewhat disheveled for his absence.
"My lady," he greeted me, a touch out of breath. "It seems the interest you incite rubs off on your companions!"
I laughed, and smoothed his rumpled hair. "Whose clutches did you escape, Fortun?"
"A gentleman does not tell," he replied, grinning. "Let me say only that there are some few D'Angeline nobles who think their suits may be heard clearer if I plead for them. They are laying bets on who will be your first patron, my lady."
"Let them," I said with satisfaction. "For now, do you think you might secure us a place at the banquet table?"
"Consider it done."
No formal dinner is served on the Longest Night, but the Queen's table was heaped high at all times and a steady stream of servants came and went, bearing away the empty trays and platters and bringing an endless array of foods. Plates and silver clinked and rattled, gleaming by candlelight, and guests ate and chattered incessantly, lifting wineglasses, dipping fingers in bowls of rosewater to rinse. I dined on pheasant glazed with honey and thyme, so tender and sweet it near melted in my mouth; I daresay Fortun sampled five dishes to my every one. There was a contingent of Cruithne at the table, representatives of Drustan mab Necthana, and we had a lively time conversing once they discovered I was in their midst, for many of them were awkward still with the D'Angeline tongue, and I had not forgotten my sometime role as translator.
It was during one such conversation that the musicians struck up a lively Caerdicci tune, and I felt a presence atmy shoulder. Turning, I gazed up to see Severio Stregazza.
"Comtesse." He bowed curtly and extended his hand. "Will you dance?"
"It would be my great pleasure." Taking his hand, I rose gracefully and followed to join him on the dancing floor.
For all that I had boasted of my skill, the Serenissiman led awkwardly, and I was hard put to follow him in such a manner as to conceal it. Still, I managed—we are taught to do no less, in Cereus House. The long nose of his mask bumped against my bare shoulder, and his gaze burned through the eyeholes.
"I heard the King of the Dalriada went to war for one night in your arms," he said abruptly. "Is it true?"
"Yes, my lord." Anticipating a swift turn, I followed. "After a