“Would you like to dance?” Seka Mardis called over the music.
Leah set down her glass. “Yes! But I don’t know the steps.”
“I’ll show you,” Seka said, gripping Leah’s hands with surprising strength and pulling her into the stream of dancers.
It wasn’t hard to follow Seka’s lead as she tugged or pushed Leah in the direction she was supposed to go—and, anyway, the motion of the crowd carried them first in one direction and then another. There was something exhilarating about the movement, the color, the insistent music. Leah felt a bubble of pure joy form in her chest and break loose in a carefree laugh.
“It is great fun, is it not?” Seka shouted.
“It really is!”
They galloped up and down, sideways and back, always at a breakneck pace. Leah could feel a film of perspiration forming across her forehead and under her arms. Maybe the smoke is just to mask the smell of sweat, she thought. When the music abruptly halted, she skidded to a surprised stop and found herself staring into Seka’s intense face. Seka still had both of Leah’s hands in hers, and Seka flexed her fingers to tighten her grip. Leah scarcely noticed.
“It’s over?” she asked blankly. She felt heavy and slightly unbalanced, as if she had pulled herself to the shore after hours spent in the water. The motion itself is part of the drug, she thought somewhat hazily. And it starts to dissipate once you come to a halt.
“No, no. Just a short break.”
In less than thirty seconds the music started up again, and they plunged back into motion. If this particular dance had a different set of steps, Leah couldn’t discern them; it seemed to be the same giddy frolic. One difference, though: They hadn’t been dancing more than a minute when Seka practically careened them into another couple, and before Leah knew it, she was partnered up with a stranger. He was about as tall as Rafe, but burlier. She spared a moment to be anxious, but then he swept her into the stream of revelers and she was delighted again. At one point he set his hands on her waist, lifted her in the air, and spun her in a complete revolution. She clutched his shoulders, threw her head back, and laughed.
Three more times she changed partners on no signal that she could detect, twice dancing with other men and once with another woman. She was pretty sure the second man was Soechin, though he was as gaudily dressed and broadly smiling as any Karkan in the room. But there was something spindly about him, and he was even clumsier with the dance steps than Leah. She suspected he was no more native to this party than she was.
The next time she changed partners, she was paired up with Yori.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Leah murmured, clutching Yori’s cool fingers as if to catch her balance.
“You look like you’re having a good time,” the guard commented with a grin.
“I am. That’s the scary thing. I’m supposed to be observing behavior and gathering information, but instead I’m cavorting.”
“It’s the sineshee,” Yori said. “It makes you lose your inhibitions.”
“Is that the incense that’s burning in all the rooms?” When Yori nodded, Leah said, “It doesn’t seem to be affecting you so much.”
Yori laughed. “I’ve probably been exposed to it more often. Built up my tolerance.”
“Well, make sure I don’t become so lighthearted that I do something stupid.”
“Like take a stranger to an upstairs room?”
“Yori!”
“Don’t worry. It’s not strong enough to turn you into someone you’re not. Just to make you worry a little less about who you are.”
“Who I am is suddenly so exhausted that I think I need to sit down.”
Yori guided them toward the wall, where various other couples had paused to fan themselves or take refreshments. As if she had been watching Leah’s every move, Seka Mardis suddenly descended on them in a swirl of clattering beads.
“That was fun, was it not? Would you like to move on?”
“Of course.”
The next room was even more dramatically lit—mostly in darkness, with a raised stage along one wall. The entertainment, thought Leah. The performers were lithe and muscular, dressed in flesh-colored clothing that fit so tightly they appeared, at first glance, to be naked. Some were executing impossible leaps and poses across the stage; others clung to colorful rings and streamers hung from the ceiling as they spun around upside down in dizzying circles. While Leah watched, openmouthed, one of the spinning women released her grip and dove with an artist’s precision into a thicket of waiting hands. As the crowd gasped, she sank out of view, shielded by their bodies, before flying upward again as the others flung her back into the air. Casually, with one hand, she caught a narrow ring suspended over the stage and leaned into an accelerating pirouette.
“That’s pretty impressive,” Yori murmured in her ear.
“I saw something like this in Palminera once,” Leah replied. “I wonder if this troupe was hired from Malinqua?”
Suddenly the music changed into something more like a call to arms—sharp, decisive measures punctuated with percussive clashes. Leah wasn’t the only one who was startled, but the performers had obviously been expecting the signal. Almost as one, they leapt off the stage in all directions, eliciting shrieks from the audience. Then they grabbed whoever was nearest and drew them into a demented dance, sometimes flinging their partners into wild spins, sometimes using them as springboards for cartwheels and backflips and other gyrations.
Leah saw one performer rest his fingers on a man’s shoulders, then coil into a handstand so that he was upside down over the other man’s body, their heads just an inch apart. A push, another leap, and he had flipped himself over so that his feet were on the man’s shoulders instead. As everyone pointed and stared, he began dashing through the crowd, his quick feet landing on a shoulder here, a head there, as if all the partygoers were just cobblestones along his morning run. Leah held her breath, certain he would miss a foothold as someone shrank out of his way or collapsed beneath his weight, but he ran lightly as a deer through a magical forest before he somersaulted back onto the stage. Everyone applauded madly.
Leah looked around for Seka, but she was nowhere in sight. So she leaned over and said to Yori, “She was right. This is pretty entertaining.”
Yori shrugged. “I’m disappointed, though.”
“You are?”
“Well, this is all fairly tame. I mean, it’s excessive, but it’s not—” She searched for a word. “Sinful.”
“For which I am grateful,” Leah murmured. “I’m not sure I’d be up for anything more outrageous.”
Yori smirked and looked like she was going to say something, but then her eyes sharpened and her gaze fixed on something over Leah’s shoulder. “What is it?” Leah asked, suddenly fearful.
“Someone here I didn’t expect to see.”
Casually, not wanting to draw attention to herself, Leah turned around and scanned the room. It wasn’t hard to guess who had caught Yori’s eye—an attractive redhead from the highest echelon of Welchin society. Not Rhan Ardelay, oh no. Someone whose presence here was even more scandalous: Queen Alys.
“She has made friends with the Karkans?” Leah murmured. “That can only mean she’s trying to stir up trouble.”
“We’ll have to tell the regent,” Yori said. “But he won’t even be surprised.”
Just then, Seka Mardis found them again. “I’m parched,” she said. “Let’s find something to drink. And eat.”
“An excellent idea,” Leah said. “And a quiet place to sit, if such a thing can be found?”
“Of course! Come with me.”
They made their way through a maze of corridors, passing more of the hooded servants carrying trays of food and drink, and found themselves in another large room with low, restful lighting. The place was set up like a dining hall, with a buffet laid out al
ong one wall and a profusion of draped tables scattered throughout the room. Pillar candles sat in the center of each table, providing smoky illumination, but the spaces between tables were so dark Leah could hear people stumbling and apologizing as they tried to navigate the room. She was relieved to find this chamber free of the heavy incense, though the smoke still clung to her tunic. It was also much quieter, though the muted music could still be heard through the intervening doors and hallways.
Leah followed Yori through the buffet, taking only items the guard put on her plate, and choosing the same beverage Yori favored. Really, she would have been lost if she’d come here alone. She suspected that Rafe’s knowledge would have been almost as extensive as Yori’s, though, and that he, too, would have known what was safe to consume and what wasn’t.
They found seats at an unoccupied table and immediately dug in. Her drink, Leah discovered, was nothing more sinister than fruited water; she could identify most of the foods, too, once she tried them, though they had been seasoned and prepared in unfamiliar ways.
“What a delightful party you’ve put together,” Leah said.
Seka Mardis pouted for a moment. “Not my party,” she said. “It was all Borner’s idea.”
“Borner?”
“One of the prince’s other advisors. He thought such an event might make us—more popular with some of the people of Chialto. The prince has been very pleased with Borner as a result.” She brooded for a moment.
Leah tried to cheer her up. “Yes, but you’ve brought him veneben!”
“I have,” Seka said with a sigh. “But he’s used most of it already.”
“Then you will be happy to see the gift I’ve brought with me tonight.”
The smile was back on Seka’s face. “Truly? You have more? Oh, thank you so much. You have no idea what this—thank you.”
“Do you want it now? I don’t know the etiquette of such things.”
“No, I think— Why don’t you give it to him? You may say I suggested it, or some such thing, but—I have told him about you and he said he would enjoy meeting you.”
Leah glanced down at her purple tunic and feigned worry. “Am I dressed finely enough to meet a prince?”
“Oh, he doesn’t care about such things. Especially at an event like this! But finish your food first.”
“It’s very good,” Yori said.
“I’m glad you like it! Borner had the idea for the party, but all the work was mine.”
The exercise or the sineshee or the stress of the evening had left Leah famished, so she ate every scrap on her plate and had to resist the notion of going back for more. Seka and Yori ate just as heartily, and Leah had to assume everyone else in the house would be equally hungry. In fact, as she watched, servants carried in a dozen more trays, all mounded high with breads and fruits and meats. The Karkans might be spending as much on food tonight as they were on entertainment.
The minute Leah finished her water, Seka jumped to her feet. “The prince is alone at the moment, for a wonder. Quickly, before anyone else approaches.”
Leah and Yori both stood up, but Seka frowned at Yori. “I’m sorry,” she said, “you must stay behind. I am certain he would like to speak to Leah in private.”
There was a frozen moment while Yori and Leah stared at each other. Leah thought she could read the question on Yori’s face: Do you feel safe enough to talk to him if I am not nearby? Leah gave the slightest nod, and Yori turned back to Seka with her usual amiable expression.
“Sure,” she said easily. “I’ll check out the entertainment again.”
“Excellent,” Seka said, turning away without another word. She set off through the darkened room, Leah closely following. She only looked back once, but Yori had already disappeared.
In the farthest corner of the room, at a small table set apart from all the others by a broad and unlit swath of space, a single man sat in solitude. The lone candle on his table had burned so low that it barely illuminated the gold goblet that sat beside it or the glittering rings on his folded hands. His face was a ghostly blur and his exact shape was lost to shadow, but Leah formed the impression that he was both tall and thin. She was also convinced that this was the man she had followed to the southside slums three ninedays ago.
“My prince,” Seka said in an obsequious voice, “I would like to introduce to you one of the friends I have made here in Chialto. She runs the shop where I have acquired such delicious items in recent days. Her name is Leah.”
“Welcome, Leah,” the prince responded, his voice very low and musical. Leah was pretty sure it was the same voice she had heard speaking briefly that night in the ghetto. She bowed deeply, as she would have to the regent, but the prince held out his palm in the traditional Karkan greeting, so Leah laid her hand against his. Like Seka’s, his skin was shockingly warm to the touch. “I trust you have enjoyed your time under my rented roof.”
“Very much so. I have never seen anything quite like those dancers.”
He gestured at the seat across from him and she sat down. Seka drew back, out of the faint circle of light, though still close enough to hear. “They come from Berringey, though they were trained in Malinqua,” he said. “I am always captivated by grace, and so I enjoy the poetry of their movements.”
“I am impressed by anyone who is willing to get up on a stage,” Leah said. “My father was an actor and so I realize that only a certain kind of personality is meant for performance.”
“Ah, I greatly enjoy theater,” the prince said. “I have seen two productions since I have been in Chialto. The themes and the styles of performance were much different from the ones we put on in the Karkades, but I enjoyed them nonetheless.”
“How did they differ? If it’s possible to explain,” Leah asked.
There was a short silence while he took a sip from his goblet and seemed to consider his answer. “Your plays seemed lighter in spirit,” he finally answered.
Since at least half of the Welchin dramatic productions were heavy tragedies, Leah decided she didn’t want to pursue that line of inquiry. “I hope you have enjoyed everything else you’ve sampled of Welchin culture,” she said.
“I have,” he said. “Though I was confounded by my visit to one of your temples.”
“You were? Why?”
“I did not understand how I was supposed to fit into one of five preconceived molds. Surely there is more variety among the people of the world? Might not a man contain within himself all of those elements? Be spiritual one day, carnal the next? As wayward as water, as stern as wood, as lush as the earth? In my country, we are very aware that a man may be a certain thing at the same time he is its exact opposite. It is this contradiction that makes life so varied and rich.”
“Such sentiments would make you seem coru,” Leah said with a smile. “For the coru reserve the right to be constantly inconstant.”
“Coru—that is your word for the element of water, is it not? If I had to confine myself to one category, that is the one I would choose. Water and blood.”
She assumed it was her imagination that he emphasized the last word. “Did you draw blessings for yourself while you were at the temple?”
“Yes, but they provided me with little guidance. Two indicated travel and one was blank. I did not learn very much.”
“It’s true that foreigners sometimes do not draw very useful blessings,” Leah admitted. “It is as if the Welchin elements only have an affinity for Welchin souls.” She smiled. “Or perhaps it is just that you are very mysterious and not easily scanned.”
She thought she saw him smiling in response. “I like the idea of being mysterious.”
She wondered if she could get him to reveal anything interesting and tried a general gambit. “Have you enjoyed your visit so far? What has caught your attention in the city of Chialto?”
“The city appears to
be very well-regulated, which surprises me.”
Which surprised her. “Oh? Why?”
“Your regent does not seem to display a firm hand. He is not decisive. From what I can tell, he seeks advice from others on almost every topic of any importance.”
Leah was childishly delighted to hear someone insinuate that Darien was weak. It was the last adjective she would have attached to him. But. “It is true he surrounds himself with trusted counselors,” she said cautiously. “But I think that’s why Welce has always been such a peaceful nation—because so many participate in its government.”
“That is not how things are done in the Karkades,” the prince said a bit scornfully. “The king’s word is law. His power is infinite and immediate. If he wants something done, it is done.”
“An excellent life for the king,” Leah murmured. “Perhaps not so excellent for the people he rules.”
The prince shrugged, as if those people didn’t matter. They probably don’t—to him. He leaned forward over the table, which brought his face closer to the light. She was surprised to see that his features were coarse, his skin blotched, his look altogether unrefined and at odds with his cultured way of speaking. He was also wearing an expression of dissatisfaction.
“But the Karkan king does not have absolute power, because he still must abase himself before and answer to the whore-bitch queen of Cozique,” he said. His measured voice made the epithet even more shocking. “It is time the Karkades freed themselves of this restrictive and humiliating arrangement. We would seek the support of your regent in this goal—but he professes himself unable to make such a commitment without the input of too many ministers to count.”