“Shall we go meet him?”
Karigan was horrified by the very idea, especially since it would bring her in proximity to the king. “Uh, no. I’d rather stay here.” “Here” was just inside the entranceway hidden by shadows.
“How will the king know you’re here, then?”
Karigan gave Alton a cockeyed glance. “Are you now my keeper?”
“No, the captain asked me to look after you.”
Well, that explained it. Leave it to Captain Mapstone to make sure that Karigan had someone watching out for her own interests. “I have no wish to see the king or to be seen by him.”
Alton shrugged. “Do you want to dance, then?”
“Dance?”
“It is what people do.” His eyes seemed to laugh at her though his expression was perfectly sober.
“No.” Karigan didn’t mind dancing in a family setting, but this was far different.
“I’m off to the refreshment table, then. Skulk in the shadows if you wish, but watch out for Weapons.” He strode off along the edge of the dance floor, weaving in and among people, pausing to greet a few. Karigan stood alone, an island in the midst of a sea of strangers. She took a deep breath, then plunged after him. He handed her a goblet of wine, and a single sniff told her it was Rhovan White. “Good,” he said. “I see you’ve decided to join the festivities.”
Karigan held the goblet tightly, her hand shaking. The entrance was now many lengths away. Aristocrats fairly jammed the place, and over the scent of her own wine, she could smell their perfumed bodies as well as the underlying sweat. A breeze tickled her as the dancers swept by. Their long gowns brushed against her. Excited voices chatted over the orchestra, their words an indistinct babble. The colors of different clans sprinkled the crowd. More gold of D’Yer, the purple of L’Petrie, the cobalt of Coutre. The scarlet of Mirwell. She started, spilling wine on her hand.
Alton passed her a cloth napkin. “On nights like this,” he whispered in her ear, “there are no enemies. It is part of the intrigue.”
Karigan shivered despite the close heat of the room. She did not recognize any of the Mirwellians present.
The orchestra music ceased, as did the dancing, as if only the music controlled the motion on the ballroom floor. The dancers, some panting, some fanning themselves, laughed and clapped with gloved hands before converging on the refreshment table. Karigan watched with wide eyes at the tide of people descending upon her, and was edged toward the dance floor by Alton.
She nearly panicked in the crush of swarming, moving bodies which flowed by her like the torrent of a river. She turned round and round and bumped into a stout old man. The beard looked vaguely familiar. Then it dawned on her: the old man with the bear pelt at the throne room entrance the other day, only now he wore . . .
Karigan jabbered something unintelligible, and the old man glared at her. “Humph. Manners lacking, eh?” he said. “I don’t know what kind of training they give you messengers these days. Spence! This person has spilled wine on me.”
A woman in the uniform of Mirwell Province was instantly at the man’s side, dabbing his scarlet surcoat with a cloth. The woman was tall and attractive, but expressionless. Then her winged horse brooch caught the light. Karigan opened her mouth in exclamation, but a subtle shake of the woman’s head stopped her short.
“S-sorry,” Karigan mumbled.
“You will be sorry,” the old man said, “if you bump into me again.” He sniffed. “At least you have good taste in wine.”
Alton reappeared, and before she could consider the significance of a Mirwellian wearing a Rider brooch, he grabbed her by the sleeve and hauled her onto the dance floor. The music piped up again, and a mischievous look crossed his face. He took her goblet and placed it on the tray of a passing servant. He held both of her hands in his and steered her around and around the floor at a breathless rate, magically synchronized with the music and other dancers. Karigan stumbled, but Alton helped her find her footing.
The dance was similar to the reels she knew from clan celebrations—the music was just fancier here. Her stomach muscles loosened, the dance releasing some of her nervous tension. She fell into the rhythm of the dance, the surroundings all a blur like the Wild Ride, so dizzying that she thought she might lose her bearings and fly across the room.
“Look at me,” Alton said, “and you won’t get so dizzy.” He grinned at her as he led her through the circular motion of the dance.
Instead, Karigan closed her eyes and imagined herself on horseback, the swishing of long gowns sounding of wind, her heartbeat the rhythm of hoofbeats. The hoofbeats. She shook her head, yet she could not rid herself of the rhythm which meshed with the dance, speeding ever faster.
Alton released her hands, and she spun to another partner. She found herself face-to-face with the Eletian. He nodded to her with a smile as if he knew something she did not, and carried on the rhythm of the dance.
Karigan’s heart pounded harder, hard enough, she was sure, that everyone else could hear it, especially the Eletian. His pale blue eyes, eyes like the winter sky, met hers only briefly before turning elsewhere, taking his secret with his gaze.
The music ended, and he dropped her hands. She watched breathlessly as he bowed away, the spectators watching both of them, the women with envy. Karigan’s cheeks burned as she strode quickly off the dance floor in as dignified a manner as possible. She followed a current of fresh air to a balcony. No one else was there, and she walked directly onto the parapet, her hand over her thrumming heart, willing it to slow down.