Masquerades - Kate Novak [84]
Victor turned to Alias, and in a mild and pleasant tone asked, "Would you excuse me for a few minutes? I have some business with this scion of the Urdo clan. Please, help yourself at the banquet table. I'll join you there."
Alias considered asking Victor to ignore the insult. Urdo wasn't the first to snub her this evening, and he probably wouldn't be the last. She recognized, though, that there was more to the conflict between the two men than an insult to herself. The young Urdo had challenged Victor's power on his own turf. "I am hungry," the swordswoman replied, and, slipping past Haztor, drifted over to the buffet tables.
A number of portly merchants were parked in front of the tables where beef, pork, and mutton were being served. At a table laden with seafood, several young men were challenging each other to down unhealthy portions of some of the more exotic offerings-fish eggs, pickled
cuttlefish, and raw squid. Alias slid up to a table featuring a huge, edible centerpiece of fruits surrounded by slices of wine cheeses fanned out like playing cards. Accepting a plate from a servant, she filled it with pieces of Vilhon Blanc and Turmish brick, and some grapes plucked from the centerpiece. Another servant provided her with a slipper of mead. With her hands full, Alias backed away from the table.
The swordswoman took a sip of the wine. She started with surprise as the taste blossomed in her mouth. She took another sip to confirm her suspicion. Evermead! A wine made in only one place-the elven island of Ever-meet, twenty-nine hundred miles away. The Dhostars had imported it all the way to Westgate. Alias was more impressed by this feat of transportation than the building of all the galleasses on the Inner Sea. She sipped blissfully at the sweet wine with her eyes closed, remembering, as if in a dream, simpler days and friends long gone.
When she'd finished the wine, the spell was broken. She looked toward the bow, where Victor was speaking with Haztor Urdo. Victor seemed relaxed and friendly, while Haztor looked tense and nervous.
"Your glass is empty," someone at Alias's side noted.
Alias turned to find herself face-to-face with Lady Nettel Thalavar. It was like turning the corner in a cavern and running into a dragon, a smiling dragon. The old woman was far more imposing than any Westgate noble Alias had met yet. She stood as tall as Alias and held her ground. There was none of Luer Dhostar's bullying or Ssentar Urdo's viciousness about her. She was simply a strong woman, unafraid of strangers.
Compared to the other guests, the noblewoman was dressed quite plainly, in a conservative black-velvet gown. Her white hair was twisted into a bun at the top of her head. Her only jewelry consisted of a gold wedding band, a strand of pearls, and a brooch of a stylized feather fashioned of copper aged to a green patina. The elderly woman motioned toward Alias's glass, and a servant appeared immediately to fill it from a wineskin.
"I am Lady Nettel," she introduced herself. "And you are Alias of the Magic Arm," the noblewoman stated as she regarded Alias through a set of lenses mounted on an ebony rod.
Alias, unused to the description, did not reply immediately.
"Alias the Sell-Sword. Ruskettle's friend. Jamal's cheap hero. Dhostar's young champion. Stop me if I mention one you prefer," Lady Nettel requested with a grin.
"Just Alias," the swordswoman replied and bowed formally at the waist. "I'm pleased to meet you, Lady Nettel. Olive speaks very highly of you."
"As she does of you," Lady Nettel answered. "I am very grateful for the assistance you rendered to her protecting my wine. Thank you."
"You are most welcome," Alias replied. "I only wish it had ended better than it did."
"Yes," Lady Nettel agreed. "Please, allow me to present my granddaughter and heir, Thistle."
Thistle Thalavar, who had been staring wide-eyed at Alias, lowered her eyes and curtsied. She was dressed rather more elaborately than her grandmother, in a white gown trimmed with miles of pink