"True enough!" Lord Coulten said merrily, and they proceeded through the gilded doors.

DESPITE LORD COULTEN'S a.s.surances, that day's session of the Hall of Magnates was no less dull than before. Yet Rafferdy found that having a companion at one's side made the affair easier to bear.

Disdain, when it is shared, can form a sort of entertainment, and each sigh or groan they emitted, each barely stifled yawn or shifting of the b.u.t.tocks upon the bench, became an expression of amus.e.m.e.nt, together forming an ongoing dialogue upon the proceedings. There was no need to exchange words when a low snort served as the most eloquent dissertation upon some old lord's backwards wig or another's propensity for examining the finger that had just explored the interior of his ear.

The High Speaker once again gave a discourse on legislative procedure. Several obscure acts were proposed, debated, and subsequently drowned in a chorus of nays. Throughout it all, Lord Farrolbrook sat on the front bench in the most placid manner, his hands upon his knees, his gaze upon whomever was speaking.

At last the proceedings drew toward a close. The High Speaker called for any last business to be presented. One of the Stouts on the far right of the Hall rose to his feet. He was a man who did credit to the name of his political party, being prodigious in dimension from side to side though not from top to bottom. He wore an overlarge wig and his cheeks were as red and wrinkled as last year's apples. credit to the name of his political party, being prodigious in dimension from side to side though not from top to bottom. He wore an overlarge wig and his cheeks were as red and wrinkled as last year's apples.

"The Hall recognizes Lord Bastellon," the High Speaker p.r.o.nounced with a wave of his gavel.

The portly lord gripped the edges of his coat and, instead of speaking immediately, embarked upon an enthusiastic clearing of his throat. Lord Coulten let out a sigh that said, I thought we were going to escape it this time I thought we were going to escape it this time, while Rafferdy gave a small cough meaning, Prepare yourself for the air to become thick and odious Prepare yourself for the air to become thick and odious.

Every session since the opening of a.s.sembly, when the High Speaker made his call for final business, the leader of the Stouts had risen to address the Hall. Each time Lord Bastellon had called for debate to be opened on the matter of King Rothard's writ of succession. And each time the Hall had voted against the proposal, with the nays being spoken quickly and loudly by the Magisters and a majority of the lords following suit. So rebuked, the Stouts would leave the Hall in a group, red-faced and fuming.

When at last his lengthy expectoration was concluded, Lord Bastellon once again spoke of the king's desire that a.s.sembly vote upon the matter of his writ of succession-though, despite his efforts at clearing his throat, his words came out with as much phlegm as force.

"The Hall of Citizens has already taken up the matter, and we must do the same," he concluded. "Therefore I call again for debate to be opened on the subject of His Majesty's writ of succession!"

Rafferdy waited for the resounding chorus of nays, preparing to speak along with them. Not that it was his particular wish to defy the king; rather, he simply did not want to vote for anything that would give the Stouts further opportunity to drone on. However, before anyone could speak otherwise, a clear voice rang out.

"Hear, hear! I second the motion."

A low murmur rushed through the hall like a wind. The speaker was none other than Lord Farrolbrook. The pale-haired lord had risen to his feet. Lord Bastellon gaped at him in open astonishment. lord had risen to his feet. Lord Bastellon gaped at him in open astonishment.

The High Speaker banged his gavel against the podium. "The proposal has been seconded. A vote must now be taken on the issue. Shall debate be opened on the matter of the writ of succession of His Majesty, King Rothard? All in favor speak yea!"

This time all of the Magisters stood, speaking their yeas yeas in loud voices. Many of the lords in the Hall exchanged baffled looks, but a number of them shrugged and stood as well to join the affirmative. Next to Rafferdy, Lord Coulten jumped to his feet and shouted in loud voices. Many of the lords in the Hall exchanged baffled looks, but a number of them shrugged and stood as well to join the affirmative. Next to Rafferdy, Lord Coulten jumped to his feet and shouted yea yea, as did several of the young men around them. As he tended to follow Lord Coulten's lead, Rafferdy stood and called out a tentative yea yea himself. Lord Coulten grinned at him. himself. Lord Coulten grinned at him.

Now the High Speaker called for the nays, and these were few and uttered in rather confused tones. There was no question; the yeas had it by a great majority. All took to their seats again.

"Debate is now opened!" the High Speaker called out.

Lord Bastellon's astonishment had been replaced by a pleased look. He gripped his coat, striding back and forth as he performed further labors upon the phlegm in his throat. "My good and wise lords, I am pleased. It is past time we grant His Great and Blessed Majesty the due that he deserves and discuss the important matter of-"

"But why discuss it?" a voice rang out, interrupting Bastellon.

Again, all stared at the speaker; again, it was Lord Farrolbrook.

"Since the matter is of such great importance, let us not cause further delay by debating it this way or that," the pale-haired lord said. "Instead, let us see it resolved at once. I call for an end to debate."

All of the Magisters leaped up behind him. The motion was quickly seconded. The High Speaker struck his gavel and called for a vote. Bastellon sputtered, trying to speak, but he was able to produce no words, only spittle. The Magisters called out their yeas, as did many around the Hall, including Lord Coulten. Once again the motion was carried.

"But this is madness!" Lord Bastellon at last managed to cry out. "I will not stand down before I have any chance to speak on the matter." out. "I will not stand down before I have any chance to speak on the matter."

The High Speaker pounded the podium with his gavel, though he looked as if he would just as readily pound Bastellon's head if needed.

"The motion has carried. Debate on the matter is ended. You will depart the floor, sir!"

Bastellon looked ready to argue, but then the Grand Usher was there at his elbow, a pair of ushers with him, and there was nothing for it; he had to depart. He shook off their hands and stamped to the right to join the other Stouts, who were all stewing in their wigs.

The High Speaker called for a vote on the issue: should the Hall of Magnates ratify and affirm King Rothard's existing writ of succession as the will and law of Altania?

The Stouts leaped out to shout their yeas; these were more than matched by the nays cried out by the Magisters on the left. The middle of the Hall largely joined in the nays, though Lord Coulten did not stand and speak, and so Rafferdy abstained as well. Once again, there was no question about the outcome. The High Speaker's gavel came down, dealing a final, fatal blow to the measure. The proposal had failed.

With this final business so concluded, the day's session was closed. The Stouts rose and marched out of the hall in a group, their faces no longer red but as gray as their wigs. The Magisters departed in a more slow and stately fashion, Lord Farrolbrook at their fore.

"Well, that was a grand entertainment!" Lord Coulten proclaimed as they departed the Hall.

"I suppose I cannot find fault with any measure that keeps the Stouts from speaking," Rafferdy allowed. "All the same, I am not sure I comprehend what you found so delightful in the affair."

Lord Coulten's blue eyes were alight. "Don't you see? The Stouts have wanted to debate the king's writ. Well, now they've had their chance."

"Not much of a chance."

"That's the point. By closing off the debate and calling for a vote, Lord Farrolbrook dealt them a grave blow."

Rafferdy shook his head. "Can it never be voted on again?"

"It can, of course-only not this session. The matter will have to wait for the next session of a.s.sembly before it can be brought up again. I'm sure the Stouts will have learned their lesson by then. They aren't that that dull. They won't allow the matter to go to debate if they are not confident it has some chance of pa.s.sing should a vote be called. However, it worked this time, and as a result we won't have to listen to them speak any further on the issue for months. It was, in sum, a clever plan." dull. They won't allow the matter to go to debate if they are not confident it has some chance of pa.s.sing should a vote be called. However, it worked this time, and as a result we won't have to listen to them speak any further on the issue for months. It was, in sum, a clever plan."

"Which means it could not possibly have been conceived by Lord Farrolbrook," Rafferdy said.

"I imagine not!" Lord Coulten agreed. "I can only believe someone else was the author of this play, yet Farrolbrook performed his part very well, which I am sure is his purpose."

They pa.s.sed through the gilded doors into the loggia. A little way off, a group of lords-mostly Magisters, given the House rings on their hands-gathered around Lord Farrolbrook. They were congratulating the fair-haired man, who wore a pleased expression.

"Yes, it is precisely his purpose, I think," Rafferdy said. "They put forth a posturer as their leader so that others underestimate them-and then promptly fall into their traps. Certainly Lord Bastellon did."

Lord Coulten let out a laugh. "G.o.d above, I never thought of it that way, but I'm sure you must be right. I say, you're quite good at politics, Rafferdy. I imagine you'll be giving speeches before the Hall and laying your own snares before the session is out."

Now it was Rafferdy who laughed. "I can a.s.sure you no such thing will happen. His His purpose may be to gain the attention of others, but mine is just the opposite. It is my hope that I will depart this body soon, and that no one so much as notices when I go." purpose may be to gain the attention of others, but mine is just the opposite. It is my hope that I will depart this body soon, and that no one so much as notices when I go."

"Well, then, you've already failed, Rafferdy, for I I will certainly notice your absence." will certainly notice your absence."

Rafferdy nodded, but only distractedly. He continued to watch Lord Farrolbrook from afar. For some reason, he found the fair-haired lord an object of fascination. His mannered gestures, his insipid expression, his overruffled robe-they were all so ridiculous. Did he truly believe that others admired him? Though Rafferdy supposed that some people did, and he recalled all the times Lady Marsdel's nephew, Mr. Harclint, had expounded upon the many talents allegedly possessed by Lord Farrolbrook, from painting to science to magick. Even as Rafferdy thought this, Farrolbrook made a fluttering motion with his hand, and crimson sparked on his finger. Lord Farrolbrook from afar. For some reason, he found the fair-haired lord an object of fascination. His mannered gestures, his insipid expression, his overruffled robe-they were all so ridiculous. Did he truly believe that others admired him? Though Rafferdy supposed that some people did, and he recalled all the times Lady Marsdel's nephew, Mr. Harclint, had expounded upon the many talents allegedly possessed by Lord Farrolbrook, from painting to science to magick. Even as Rafferdy thought this, Farrolbrook made a fluttering motion with his hand, and crimson sparked on his finger.

"But can he really be a magician?" Rafferdy said, only realizing he had spoken the words aloud once they were uttered. He looked at Lord Coulten. "That is, I have heard that Farrolbrook has demonstrated magick in public on several occasions."

"Oh, of course he's a magician," Lord Coulten said. "Just as I am a great musician because I tell everyone how much I adore music, how my thoughts are always consumed with music, and how there is nothing in the world so important or worthy of study as music."

Rafferdy raised an eyebrow. "I take it you can't play a note?"

"Not a one! As for magick-I've never seen him do anything that would require an enchantment. They say he called down lightning once, but anyone with a kite and a key and a bit of luck can manage that that trick." trick."

These words pleased Rafferdy, though he wasn't certain why. What did he care if Lord Farrolbrook was a magician or not?

"All the same, he does wear a House ring," Rafferdy said.

"Well, that that hardly means anything. They give those out to practically anyone these days." With a wry expression, Lord Coulten raised his own hand and the red-gemmed ring upon it. hardly means anything. They give those out to practically anyone these days." With a wry expression, Lord Coulten raised his own hand and the red-gemmed ring upon it.

Rafferdy gripped the handle of his cane. His glove concealed it, but all the same he could feel the cool weight on his ring finger. "You make a jest of it. Yet I am sure you know that only a magician-or at least, one who could could be a magician-may put on such a ring." be a magician-may put on such a ring."

Lord Coulten shrugged. "I suppose some modic.u.m of magickal ability is required. Yet there is a difference between having a talent for a thing and taking the time and effort to learn to do it-just as there is a difference between speaking about music and practicing an instrument." ability is required. Yet there is a difference between having a talent for a thing and taking the time and effort to learn to do it-just as there is a difference between speaking about music and practicing an instrument."

Rafferdy gave the other young man a pointed look. "What of you, Lord Coulten? When it comes to magick, are you and your friends more likely to speak or to practice?"

Dimples appeared in Lord Coulten's cheeks. "A magician never divulges his secrets, Rafferdy-at least not in public. You'll have to join us at tavern tonight if you wish to find out the answer to that."

Rafferdy had been so consumed with his despair at attending a.s.sembly, and then with his amus.e.m.e.nt at mocking it, that he had forgotten entirely the question he had been wanting to ask Lord Coulten.

"Tell me," he said, "is it at the Sword and Leaf that you meet?"

"So it is! But I confess, I am surprised that you know. I am not so mysterious as I hoped."

"I believe I saw you there several umbrals past," Rafferdy explained. "I go to that tavern often. Well, not so often of late, yet often enough. That I have not seen you there before surprises me me."

"It should not, as we only started meeting there very recently. What's more, we gather in a private room, and we usually come and go through the rear door of the tavern. I came in the front that last time only because I was coming from that direction and was running late. I should have guessed that you frequent the Sword and Leaf. It is said it used to be a favorite haunt for magicians long ago." Lord Coulten gave him an arch look. "But I'm sure you you knew that." knew that."

Actually, it was only recently that he had learned that rumor from Eldyn Garritt. Rafferdy had taken a liking to the Sword and Leaf not for any fact of its history, but rather for the dimness of its booths and the strength of its punch. In all the years they had gone there, Rafferdy had never noticed any magicians or private rooms. Or back doors, for that matter.

He was about to mention this. However, at that moment a voice called out Lord Coulten's name. A group of young lords-none of them wearing a wig on his head-were waving at them. Or, more precisely, at Lord Coulten. of them wearing a wig on his head-were waving at them. Or, more precisely, at Lord Coulten.

"Pardon me, Rafferdy, but I must be off," Lord Coulten said. "My invitation stands. We will be gathering at the Sword and Leaf at moonrise. Please join us. You would be most welcome."

Rafferdy explained that he already had plans to meet someone else for a drink that night. Before he could speak further, the other men called out again for Lord Coulten. He gave a bow, his tall crown of hair bobbing, then departed with his companions.

The loggia was all but empty now. Lord Farrolbrook and the other Magisters were gone; there was not a Stout to be seen. Cane in hand, Rafferdy started toward the stairs that led down to the esplanade.

A flutter of darkness caught his eye. To his left, a figure stepped from between two columns into the loggia. She was tall for a woman and proceeded with a kind of coiled grace, as if her languid motions might at any moment become swift and forceful. Her face was as pale as the ivory handle of his cane, and she was clad in a gown of black like a mourner.

Or rather, like an executioner.

Rafferdy could not guess why Lady Shayde was here. The king would not address a.s.sembly again until the next session opened, and was His Majesty not her primary concern?

Perhaps she was looking for more men who bled gray rather than red. Rafferdy shuddered at the memory. However, as strange as all that had been, it was not his his concern. And no matter what her purpose was, he had no wish for another encounter with her-or with her hulking companion, Moorkirk, if he was about. concern. And no matter what her purpose was, he had no wish for another encounter with her-or with her hulking companion, Moorkirk, if he was about.

That white visage began to turn in his direction. Rafferdy wasted no more time. He hurried to the closest columns, slipped between them, and descended the broad bank of steps beyond. He found his driver waiting on the street and climbed into the carriage.

"Where to, sir?"

Rafferdy did not know how to answer. He had no wish to return home and be alone. The idea of shopping for new clothes did not entice him, and it was many hours yet before it was time to meet Eldyn Garritt. He considered paying a visit to Vallant Street, but he was unsure they were receiving, given Lord Baydon's condition, and a visit to Fairhall Street was not something he would undertake unless commanded by Lady Marsdel. meet Eldyn Garritt. He considered paying a visit to Vallant Street, but he was unsure they were receiving, given Lord Baydon's condition, and a visit to Fairhall Street was not something he would undertake unless commanded by Lady Marsdel.

"Sir?"

"Take me to The Seventh Swan," he said suddenly.

"To the inn down the street, you mean, sir?"

"Yes, that's right."

The plan agreed upon at Lady Marsdel's was that he would call on Mrs. Quent tomorrow. However, that did not mean he could not call on her today today as well. After all, he had promised Mrs. Quent-that is, Lady Quent-that he would visit her and her sisters more often. Besides, he was sure they would be happy to receive him unexpectedly; and for his part, he wanted to hear how the affair at the house of the viscountess Lady Crayford had gone last night. as well. After all, he had promised Mrs. Quent-that is, Lady Quent-that he would visit her and her sisters more often. Besides, he was sure they would be happy to receive him unexpectedly; and for his part, he wanted to hear how the affair at the house of the viscountess Lady Crayford had gone last night.

To Rafferdy's chagrin, an entire afternoon of writing notes had failed to procure him an invitation to the party. It was paradoxical that, after declining so many invitations in the past, the one time he actually wanted one he could not get it. However, perhaps the two were not unconnected-a notion he had been forced to consider after receiving more than one curt note in which the author stated, if he could not be troubled to ever come to their their parties, they would not be troubled to help him gain an invitation to another. parties, they would not be troubled to help him gain an invitation to another.

Well, it hardly mattered. The only thing about the affair at the viscountess's that would have interested him was seeing her her there, and hearing about it from Lady Quent would be every bit as satisfying. He grinned, very pleased with his decision, then settled back into the seat as the cabriolet moved down Marble Street. there, and hearing about it from Lady Quent would be every bit as satisfying. He grinned, very pleased with his decision, then settled back into the seat as the cabriolet moved down Marble Street.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

IVY OPENED HER eyes to a dazzle of golden light, and for a moment she wondered if she had never left-if she had simply fallen on a soft velvet chaise to rest her head for just a little while, and that it was still night and she was still there, at the party at Lady Crayford's house.

However, as she sat up she saw the brilliant glints were not from the light of a thousand candles refracting off crystal goblets and diamond cuff links and pendants of topaz that hung low against the decolletage of elegant gowns. Rather, it was only the morning sunlight striking the bits of colored gla.s.s that Lily had, on a whim one day, hung from ribbons before the windows in all of their rooms at The Seventh Swan.

Nor were the sounds that had stirred her from her slumber a minuet performed by masked musicians, mingling with the conversation of revelers. Rather, it was the bells of a church tolling the start of the second farthing of the lumenal, and the voices were those of Lily and Rose speaking in the sitting room outside her chamber door.

Even as she listened, the bells finished their carillon. The day was already a quarter over and she was not yet out of bed! And there was much to do with Mr. Quent away. They had begun to receive the furnishings for the house on Durrow Street they had ordered, and there were dozens of accounts for her to reconcile today.

She roused herself from bed and moved to a basin on the bureau to splash water on her face. As she did, she saw her green gown from last night lying over the back of the chair. Bits of glitter still clung to it, sparkling in the sunlight. She picked it up, thinking to hang it properly. Only as she did, the scents of jasmine and lilac emanated from it. She held the gown to her cheek, breathing deeply, and once again she was there, at the house of the viscountess. still clung to it, sparkling in the sunlight. She picked it up, thinking to hang it properly. Only as she did, the scents of jasmine and lilac emanated from it. She held the gown to her cheek, breathing deeply, and once again she was there, at the house of the viscountess.

Except that, at first, it hadn't been a house at all.

Standing outside in the darkness, Ivy and Mrs. Baydon had been filled with dread at the thought of entering. They had gripped each other's hands so tightly each could feel the rapid rate of the other's pulse. Then, together, they had stepped through the door into- -a painting.

Or rather, into a whole gallery of paintings. Ivy knew the viscountess was an accomplished artist. She had expected-indeed, had very much hoped-to see some of Lady Crayford's works. What Ivy had not expected was to become a part of those paintings herself.

Yet she and Mrs. Baydon found themselves in a sylvan glade ringed by poplar trees and half-ruined columns and statues that gazed with moss-filled eyes. Everything was brilliantly colored, yet soft and slightly blurred, as if formed from the strokes of a brush. Even as they gaped about them, smiling dryads beckoned to them, drawing them farther in. Fauns walking on crooked legs and carrying silver trays handed them goblets of cool wine. Ivy looked at Mrs. Baydon and saw that leaves tangled in her companion's gold hair. She reached up to her own coif and pulled away another leaf.

If she looked at it closely, Ivy could see that it was not a leaf at all, but rather a slip of green paper. And, if she concentrated very hard, she could see that the dryads and fauns were simply servants in forest-colored garb, and the statues and columns were made of wood and plaster. However, even as she took a sip of the wine, the scene around her softened again, and the servants vanished, replaced once more by the sylvan beings.

Mrs. Baydon laughed and took her hand, and they strolled about the glade, delighting in everything they saw. To Ivy, it was like being on a hill just outside ancient Tharos. Then they found themselves on the edge of the glade, and once again they stepped forward, into a new painting. like being on a hill just outside ancient Tharos. Then they found themselves on the edge of the glade, and once again they stepped forward, into a new painting.

This one was darker, with lanterns reflecting off onyx water and the graceful arches of stone bridges. A narrow gondola glided by as candles floated all around. Ivy had seen pictures of such a place before. It was one of the ca.n.a.l cities on the coast of the Princ.i.p.alities, where people went not by carriage but by boat on the various waterways that served for streets.

Another gla.s.s of wine was given to them, this time by a servant in a grotesque yet delightful mask with a beaked nose and decorated with feathers. They had hardly finished it before they were swept into another scene, and another, each as beautiful as the last. They walked upon the parapets of a ruined castle, marveled beneath the golden dome of a Murghese temple, and strolled through a field of brilliant red poppies.

All at once, the poppies gave way to parquet floor, the clouds to chandeliers, and they were once again in Invarel, in a ballroom with grand windows that looked out over the lights of the New Quarter. However, this was in no way less fantastical than the scenes through which they had wandered, for Ivy realized those those had been only prelude-a means to delight and heighten the senses in preparation for what lay ahead. had been only prelude-a means to delight and heighten the senses in preparation for what lay ahead.

Somehow, despite the crowd of people that filled the ballroom, the viscountess found them at once. To Ivy's astonishment-and, she confessed, her great pleasure-Lady Crayford greeted her as if she was the fondest old friend, giving her a warm embrace. In turn she greeted Mrs. Baydon with the most generous expression of warmth. Mrs. Baydon was so amazed she could hardly speak, though she made a beautiful curtsy in reply.

"Come, Lady Quent, you must see my paintings," the viscountess said.