story - part 20 - party - 1481 words

I have been to a few common parties in my time. They are rowdy affairs with alcohol and heavy food, loud songs and jokes and conversations. People cluster around tables and have conversations that occasionally explode into uproarious laughter. Voices rise into loud and joyous songs, enjoying their moment of prosperity and freedom. There are contests, arm wrestling and dancing and storytelling. Everyone is relaxed and content.

Noble parties are nothing like this. No one settles back and relaxes, there are no overfilling glasses and greasy foods. Any dances are tight and stiff and carefully organized affairs, slow movements of feet and straight backs, minimal contact between people. Those laughing, clustered conversations are replaced by lounging nobles at tables, watching and calculating and gossiping. All music comes from the bards, quiet and tame.

I was never comfortable in those common festivals. I could not settle into the easy flow of the events, I could never settle into quick and energetic dances or tell loud jokes of questionable taste. I could not bare myself and disappear into their conversations, I was not suited for their games.

This is even worse. I sit at the high table, at Lady Calidris's right hand, listening to her make idle conversation with an ingratiating young man across the table. She laughs, a flat and toneless sound, at some quiet joke. I seethe inwardly with some unfamiliar emotion and look away from the pair of them.

There are eyes locked on me. Strangers who view me as an outsider, who wonder how I managed to wriggle my way into this event. Servants who slither past with trays laden with food, who make sure glasses are kept full, give me glances that almost seem betrayed. And, of course, near the end of the table, the pale blue eyes of the Prince narrowed in accusation.

I feel as if no one wants me here. Somewhere between common and noble, I am too high in rank to settle into the role of servant or to provide entertainment, but also too low to be seated at the main table. My two allies are of no use. Lady Calidris is too busy with the affairs of court, plotting and manipulating, and there is something dark in Tumaire's expression. He is angry with me. I do not know why.

That creeping, twitching sensation that creeps up the spine and makes shoulders set rigidly is just starting to set in. There is a foul taste in the back of my mouth that no amount of wine can wash away, and I have already had enough. Calidris has not looked at me once all night, it seems having me there as her escort is enough. She just wanted to drag me out and put me on display.

This is when Amazilia arrives. Her costume is not the elaborate, over-done neck to ankle outfits most of the women here wear, there is nothing elegant and proper about her appearance. Instead she has slithered into something slinky and simple, something cut low enough to flash a pale expanse of chest, high enough to show off the curve of her legs. Hair is down, wild and dark about her face, and her lips are brilliantly red. If she is going to be the King's mistress, it seems, she is going to look the part.

She does not steal the attention of the entire room, but almost immediately I can feel eyes shifting away from me and onto her. That hatred is diverted, that disgust and frustration. I am not the abomination here anymore, I am quiet and unobtrusive - she is the one who comes sauntering into the hall with a provocative twist of her hips. The men cannot look away. The women are jealous. The King is furious.

No one else will understand the slight set of Corbin's jaw, the narrowing in his eyes. It is a muted fury, it takes a friend or an advisor or a son to recognize the danger in the slight roll of one hand. He blinks mildly from her, up to his right hand man, and then to his wife. Eyes lock briefly down upon Tumaire, who merely looks puzzled, and for a heart-jerking second I believe they fix on me.

Amazilia has sauntered her way across the center of the floor, navigating smoothly through the interrupted dance, offering a smile at several of the bards, who immediately kick back into song. They are payed to fill the room with music, and they know how to ignore drama. Her swaying steps have brought her to the lower of the noble tables, to claim her empty seat. People settle back into their conversations and pretend not to watch her out of the corners of their eyes.

At the moment, she is relatively safe, but she has set a snare and any little nudge could set her off. If I were in the King's position, I would let her be, try to ignore her. I can read the look in her eyes - she wants to be pushed, she wants an excuse to make a scene. She has tricks up her sleeve.

Corbin is too hot-tempered to sit idly by, however. He watches her with a dark frown on his lips, something moody, I can imagine him seething over the fact that she disobeyed an order. This is the realization that he does not have as much control over her as he believed, and it is as much fear as anger.

The King's advisor is a man by the name of Rallus. Tall and thin, with a sharp nose and sharper eyes, with a frayed around the edges appearance. He is the one who deals with all the dirty work, the things no one else wants to touch. Right now, he is the one who settles into place behind Amazilia and sets a hand on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear.

I do not know how conversation can continue at that same unhurried pace, how people can stay involved in each other. I can almost taste the air changed as her expression shifts from mild and vaguely curious to something nastier. She is suddenly smug, she was waiting for this.

"You think I should leave? Why?" Voice pitched just loud enough that the surrounding tables can hear the edge of indignance, that she can interrupt conversation. Rallus whispers something else, too soft to pick up on, and she cocks her head to the side. Feigned innocence on her face.

"Everyone who is anyone is here, I don't want to miss out on my chance to meet people." Looking up toward the King, whose eyes are still flashing dangerously, whose fingertips are tapping out a slow pattern on the table in front of him. His hand twitches and clenches, I think he is beginning to realize that this was not the best idea.

Amazilia's eyes narrow at another soft whisper in her ear. Slowly and dramatically, she pushes her chair back and rises to stand, looking indignant. Injured. She is quite an actress, I like her better when she has a touch of power in hand.

"He doesn't want me? He's never been bothered by my low stature before." Quickly accelerating this into a scene, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. She is beginning to look like the abused as opposed to the one in control, she is making him look bad. Rallus's soft voice is frantic, panicking, he is rapidly losing control of this situation.

"I'm not some ignorant peasant girl, you know. I have rank, status. He can't just sleep with me and treat me like common trash." Trump card. That strikes a nerve in half of the people here, those who fear the power the King has over them, who are always searching for more power. A dozen or more minds store the information away for further use.

"Well, fine, he doesn't want me here, then I'll leave. Quietly and peacefully, because he can turn his status on me and banish me from his presence." Eyes flashing and a smug smile touching her lips as she shoves past Rallus and sweeps elegantly, carefully from the hall.

This was designed, it was probably rehearsed. It did not shock me, but the nobles are left with wide eyes, blinking after her. The Queen is pale and silent. Corbin still boils with anger, eyes flashing a challenge to everyone else in the room. No one speaks out against the King, not ever, and now there are seeds of rebellion planted in every one of the nobles. If he takes action, they will accuse him of being too strict; if he takes none, they will know they can get away with going against his wishes. His hold on them has begun to decay, and it can only get worse from here.