‘Yes, Highness.’
James opened the door and admitted Gardan, who nodded a greeting. After Gardan entered the room, James left, closing the door behind him.
The court was nearly empty. In a few moments, de Lacy and Jerome would admit nobles, merchants, and other petitioners to the great hall. With a nod of courtesy to the two men, James hurried out of another side door and started back towards his quarters. He might not look forward to another of Princess Anita’s galas, but he did hear his bed singing a siren call to him right now. The last few weeks in the north, especially almost a week-long horseback ride abetted by mystical herbs to ward off fatigue, had taken its toll.
As he reached the corner of two halls, he found a page and instructed the youth to awaken him one hour before the supper bell rang. James reached his room, went inside, and within minutes was fast asleep.
The musicians struck up a tune and Arutha turned to his wife and bowed. Less formal than the royal court in Rillanon, the Prince’s court in Krondor was no less bound by traditions. One such was that no one began dancing before the Prince and Princess.
Arutha was an adept dancer. That didn’t surprise James. No one could be as nimble when wheeling a sword as the Prince of Krondor and not have a superb sense of balance and exquisite timing. And the dances were simple. James had heard that the court dances in Rillanon were complex, very formal things, while here in the far more rustic west the court dances were similar to those performed by farmers and townspeople throughout the Western Realm, just executed with a bit more restraint and less noise.
James watched Arutha and Anita nod as one to the music master. He held up his bow and nodded to his musicians, a collection of stringed instruments, a pair of percussionists, and three men playing flutes of various sizes. A sprightly tune was struck up and Anita stepped away from Arutha, while holding his hand, and executed a twirling turn, which caused her ornate gown to flare out. She ducked skillfully under his arm, and James thought it was a good thing those silly large white hats the ladies wore this season were considered daywear only. He considered it improbable she could have got under Arutha’s arm without knocking it off.
The thought struck him as amusing and he smiled. Jerome, standing nearby said, ‘Something funny, James?’
James’s smile vanished. He had never liked Jerome, that distaste going back to their first encounter when James had arrived in court. After Jerome’s first – and last – attempt to bully him, James had knocked down the older boy, informing him pointedly that he was Prince Arutha’s personal squire and not about to be bullied by anyone. James had emphasized the message with the point of a dagger – Jerome’s own – deftly picked off his belt without Jerome noticing, and the message had never needed to be repeated.
Jerome had remained wary of James from that day on, though he had occasionally tried to bully the younger squires. Since becoming de Lacy’s apprentice, and in all likelihood the next Master of Ceremonies, Jerome had outgrown his bullying behaviour, and a polite truce had arisen between himself and James. James still considered him a fussy prig, but judged him far less obnoxious than he had been as a boy. And at times he was even useful.
James said, ‘Just an odd thought about fashion.’
Jerome let a slight smile show itself before turning sombre once more. He did not pursue the remark, but his slight change of expression indicated he appreciated James’s observation.
The court was at its lavish best, with every guest adorned in the height of Krondorian fashion. James found these annual shifts in taste odd and occasionally ridiculous, but bore up under them stoically. This year the guards’ uniforms had been changed, at the Princess’s request, as the old grey tabards were now considered too dull.
The honour guard along the walls wore light brown tunics – somewhere between copper and gold – marked with a black eagle soaring over the peak of a mountain. James wasn’t sure he liked the break with tradition, but noticed the Prince’s scarlet mantle of office still bore the old crest.
Another group of guests arrived and filtered into the ballroom. Leaning towards Jerome, James quietly asked, ‘The usual guests?’
Jerome nodded. ‘Local nobles, rich merchants, a few soldiers of rank who have earned our Prince’s favour.’
‘Any Keshians?’ asked James.
‘A few,’ said Jerome. ‘Traders.’ He glanced over at James and asked, ‘Or did you have some particular Keshians in mind?’
James shook his head a little as the dance came to a close. ‘No, but I wish I did.’
If Jerome was curious about the remark, he didn’t show it. James had come to admire his reticence, as a great deal of a Master of Ceremony’s time was spent dealing with idiots, many of them powerful and rich. The ability not to hear things convincingly was a skill James felt he lacked and needed to cultivate.
A bit of a bustle at the far end of the hall began as the first dance ended. Arutha bowed to Anita and offered his hand, which she took, to escort her back to the dais.
From the opposite end of the hall came the booming crack of de Lacy’s staff of office striking the floor heralding the arrival of someone of note. De Lacy’s old, but still strong, voice carried the hall, as he intoned, ‘Your Highnesses, Lord Radswil, Duke of Olasko!’
James said, ‘Radswil of Olasko?’
Jerome whispered, ‘Pronounced Rads-vil, you ignoramus. One of the Eastern Kingdoms – a duchy, actually.’ Looking with mock disdain at James he said, ‘Study the map, my friend. The man’s the younger brother of the Grand Duke Vaclav, and uncle to the Prince of Aranor.’ Dropping his voice even lower, Jerome said, ‘Which means he’s a cousin to the King of Roldem.’
A stir spread through the room as those who had occupied the dance floor parted to allow a large man and his retinue to cross to where Arutha and Anita were just sitting down. James studied the man and didn’t like what he saw.
The duke was a bruiser, James could tell, despite his fine raiment. A large velvet hat of dark maroon, looking like an oversized beret, dropped off to one shoulder, a large silver brooch with a long white feather sweeping back from it. His black jacket was tailored to fit snugly, and James could see the massive shoulders were not padded, but merely reinforced his impression that Lord Radswil could easily hold his own in the rougher inns of the city. Black leggings and stockings finished the ensemble, all of the finest make. The sword at his side was a rapier, much like the one Arutha wore, often used and a serious weapon. The only difference was that Radswil’s had a silver-and-gold-decorated bellguard.
At his left hand walked a young girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, wearing a dress to rival the Princess’s, though cut as daringly low as modesty permitted. James studied her face. She was pretty in a predatory way, with the eyes of a hunter. For a brief moment he gave thanks that Locklear was gone from the court. Since they were boys, James had joked that girls would get Locklear killed some day, and this one looked about as dangerous as any James had seen, despite her youth.
Then James felt eyes upon him and glanced across. At Radswil’s right hand walked two young men, about James’s own age from what he could tell. The one closest to the duke looked like a younger version of Radswil, heavy set, powerful of stature and full of confidence. The one farthest from the duke bore enough of a resemblance to be a younger brother, but he was leaner and his eyes had a menacing cast as he fixed them upon James. He was studying James as James had been studying the party, and intuitively James knew what that young man was doing; he was picking out potential enemies in court. James felt a chill run down his back as the duke bowed before Arutha.
Jerome, now acting the part of his office as assistant to the Master of Ceremonies, stepped forward and said, ‘Your Highnesses, may I present Radswil, Lord Steznichia, Duke of Olasko.’
Arutha said, ‘Welcome to our court, my lord. Your arrival catches us somewhat unprepared. We thought you