"So, Miss Blan, I suppose that you don't have much experience with this sort of party."
Baron de Sangri's tone was amiable enough, but Lillet Blan couldn't help but wonder if there was a hidden barb behind his words. Was he implying that she was being so horribly gauche that it was plain she had no idea how to act? Or that she was a jumped-up peasant who had no reason to be encroaching on her betters?
Lillet supposed that the doubts largely stemmed from her own lack of comfort in the role of a lady. She was much more used to her black-and-purple clothes, not this lavender ball gown, to having her honey-blonde hair tumbling loose down her back instead of being pinned up in an elaborate coiffure. A library, a laboratory, even a battlefield--any of these she'd be comfortable with, not Lady Anheuser's grand parlor. The truth was, though, that a Royal Magician was as much a part of the palace court as any knight or noble, and it carried with it certain social obligations.
Since she didn't know if de Sangri had any hidden intentions, she answered the question honestly.
"No, I haven't. I grew up in the country before I started studying magic. When I got the invitation, I had to ask one of the other magicians what a musicale is." She smiled brightly. "He said it's kind of like a concert, only instead of going to the theater, the hostess brings the performer here."
"I am looking forward to hearing La Bacardi sing," said Lillet's companion. Amoretta Virgine's slender form and fine-boned, elegant beauty perfectly suited her simple silver dress; that, with her pale complexion and nearly white hair, made her look like she was nobly born, perfectly in place.
The Baron chuckled.
"Then you will be one among a minority here tonight."
"If they do not want to hear the music, then why attend?" Amoretta said in her matter-of-fact way. One of the things Lillet loved about the other girl was the sheer purity of her honesty. Whether it was curiosity, reason, or her emotions, she never hesitated to express the truth in plain, direct words.
"Why, for the same reason that we courtiers do anything, Miss Virgine. We come to see and to be seen, to dance the great dance of politics, influence, and power. The battle lines of society are drawn here, and we fight them as valiantly as warriors fight in battle."
"I see."
"Now, Stefan, don't go telling them all our secrets," a second man said, approaching them. "It wouldn't do to have them realize what fribbles we nobles really are. Particularly," he added, taking Amoretta's hand and sweeping a bow over it, "such a charming lady as Miss Virgine, here. We would not want to give her a bad impression of us." He brushed his lips over the back of her fingers in a kiss.
"Please don't do that," Amoretta said, pulling her hand back, then lacing her fingers through Lillet's to keep them out of reach.
De Sangri laughed.
"I see that someone has the good sense to resist your blandishments, Thomas."
The newcomer smiled, without the slightest sign that Amoretta's reaction had stung. Perhaps it hadn't, if he was only playing games.
"I apologize for my forwardness," he said expansively, "but I could not help but be overcome by this fair maiden's beauty. It is as if an angel has descended among us."
Amoretta and Lillet both broke into giggles. Thomas, after all, had hit on the literal truth--Amoretta's spirit was an angel's, used as the core for her artificially-spawned body. In truth, she wasn't human at all, but an experimental homunculus created by Lillet's former Alchemy professor, Dr. Chartreuse Grande.
Thomas brushed a stray hair out of his eyes.
"Was it something I said?"
"Undeniably," de Sangri noted. "But since you've amused the ladies, I shall introduce you. Baron Thomas Collins, the lady you are rhapsodizing over is as I believe you overheard, Miss Amoretta Virgine."
"I'm sorry if I upset you," he offered. Like de Sangri, Collins was around twenty-five, and his strong, square features and red hair made a good match to his friend's olive-skinned, dark, saturnine look. Both, of course, were elegantly dressed in the height of noble fashion, with white shirts and breeches, lace at wrists and throat, shoes polished to a high gloss, and fancifully embroidered waistcoats and jackets.
"Thank you for apologizing."
"Her companion," de Sangri said meaningfully, "is the Royal Magician Lillet Blan."
Lillet smiled brightly as Collins faded to ash-pale.
"It's nice to meet you," she said.
Collins swallowed.
"Likewise, Miss Blan. Aren't you the prodigy who graduated from the Silver Star Tower in less than a year?"
"Well, it depends on how you're counting, but I think you do mean me." She'd actually finished all the courses of study in five days--days relived many times over thanks to a twisted warp in time created by the Philosopher's Stone. At twenty, she was rapidly outstripping the other magicians at the Royal House of Magic, practitioners who were two or three--or five or ten--times her age. There were whispers that Her Majesty intended to name Lillet as a Mage Consul, a rank never before given to anyone under seventy. Lillet found it all to be ferociously embarrassing.
"You're the one who destroyed the Archmage Calvaros, aren't you?"
Lillet blushed.
"I don't know how these stories get started."
Collins nervously tugged at his collar.
"I don't think I'd really look all that good as a toad," he said. "There's nothing in my wardrobe that goes with a green complexion, y'know."
De Sangri laughed, making Lillet only blush hotter. It's not like I go around putting curses on everyone who thinks Amoretta is pretty! If someone tried to hurt her, that would be another thing, but this was nothing but silly.
"Relax, Lord Collins," she said. Trying to defuse the tension with humor, she added, "I may only be a country girl, but even I know it's simply not done to do magic tricks at a musicale. I only turn people into toads at rout parties."
Amoretta giggled, and Collins looked relieved, glad he hadn't blundered badly.
"Why don't the two of you join us?" Lillet offered. "The music ought to be starting soon."
De Sangri nodded.
"Yes, it ought. In fact, I think it should have started already." He took a watch on a fancy golden chain out of his waistcoat pocket. "Half past eight, indeed. I think something may be wrong."
"We should go see. Lady Anheuser is a friend of m'mother's and all."
Collins's suggestion seemed to be a good one; they soon found their hostess out back, in a side hall that led to spare bedrooms which had been set aside as dressing rooms. The elegant, gray-haired society matron was almost on the verge of hysteria as she pleaded with a plump, mustachioed man wearing evening dress that on first glance looked fashionable but on a closer examination was threadbare and not of the quality of de Sangri's or Collins's.
"My lady," the man was saying as the four approached, "I am deeply sorry, but there is nothing we can do. Of course we will return the fee, but La Bacardi simply cannot sing tonight."
"What's wrong, Lady Anheuser?" Collins asked. "Can we be of assistance?"
"What? Oh, Lord Collins!" she said, spinning. Obviously the family connection was as strong as he'd suggested because she immediately started confessing her problem, which Lillet was pretty sure she wouldn't do to a casual guest. "This is Maria Bacardi's manager. He says that La Bacardi has come down with a cold in her throat and will not be able to sing!"
"That kind of takes the 'music' part out of 'musicale,' doesn't it?"
"Is she here?" Lillet asked. "I don't know how useful it might be against disease, but I could summon a few elves to take a look at her."
"Summon...? Ah, you are a magician, young miss?" asked the manager. "It is very kind, but no, La Bacardi is home in bed. She sent me with her regrets to Lady Anheuser."
"Oh, that's too bad."
"What am I going to do?" moaned the lady. "My musicale will be ruined! I'll be a laughingstock."
"That's not even fair," Collins protested.
"Um...I could sing."
Everyone stopped and turned to Amoretta.
"You?" Lady Anheuser said.
"Amoretta has a beautiful voice," Lillet spoke up. It was true, not just her sticking up for her love. When Amoretta sang, it was if the angel's spirit within her was let free from its fleshly restraint and allowed to soar.
"Show me," the manager said. Let us all hear, and we will see."
"Practical," de Sangri admitted.
"All right," Amoretta said, and with no further ado started in on an aria from Winter's Lament. She and Lillet had seen that opera at the Royal Theater two weeks past, and so far as Lillet could tell Amoretta had a nearly photographic memory for music. Her voice was an exquisite, clear soprano like the chiming of crystal and the passion she put into it made the already tragic song almost heartbreakingly sad. She stopped after a couple of minutes at a break between verses.
"Will that be all right?" she asked ingenuously.
"All right? She asks if it will be all right?" Collins rhapsodized. "It was wonderful, enchanting, magnificent! I've never heard a voice like that before!"
"It really was incredible, Amoretta," Lillet said.
"But...there are tears in your eyes," she said hesitantly, then brushed her fingertips over Lillet's lashes, feeling the wetness caught there. "Did I make you unhappy?"
"No, Amoretta, not at all. It's just that you made the emotions of the song touch me so deeply." She took Amoretta's hand in hers and held it against her cheek, not caring that there were four other people watching (or perhaps, whispered some petty part of her soul, glad that at least one of them was watching, to make a point to the overeager Baron Collins).
"Miss," the manager said, "I do not know who you are, but if you ever consider a career on the stage, I beg that you consider me, Ouzowen. Between your voice and your beauty, I should make of you a sensation." He pressed a piece of pasteboard, no doubt his card, on her.
"Well, we've had any number of glowing opinions," remarked de Sangri, "but what of the one who matters? Will Miss Virgine do, Lady Anheuser?"
Their hostess had been watching Amoretta with Lillet intently.
"Will she! I should say so. To discover such a brilliant new talent for the first time will make my musicale a smashing success. The other ladies will be positively green with envy!"
"Why would you want to inspire envy?"
"Your innocence matches your name, Miss Virgine," de Sangri teased. "Why, there is no goal higher among we courtiers than to leave our rivals gnawing their livers over how badly they've been outdone. It keeps us out from underfoot while the rest of the world gets on with the business of living their lives and people like Miss Blan keep the kingdom running. Convenient for everyone, really."
"You're so droll, Baron," Lillet told him, chuckling. "You remind me of one of my magic professors."
"Is it a compliment to be compared to Mr. Advocat?" Amoretta wondered.
"Of course! You can tell that Baron de Sangri likes to put on Mephistophelean airs, so he should be glad that he's a success."
Collins grinned at his friend.
"Don't look now, old boy, but I think she just scored one off you...though I'm not sure exactly how."
"Women are mysterious creatures, Thomas, and how much more so when one is a magician."
To say that Amoretta's performance was a success would be an epic understatement. While the initial news of La Bacardi's illness was received with grumbles and displeasure, the guests' mood reversed with Amoretta's first song. Even Lillet, who'd heard Amoretta sing many times before, was impressed by how well she adapted to the needs of a performance, though she still preferred it when Amoretta would sing privately for the sheer joy of music. If Lady Anheuser's goal was to build envy in the hearts of those absent, then she'd surely succeeded, for Amoretta's performance was sure to be a nine days' wonder in Court Society.
"That was amazing!" Lillet rhapsodized on the way home.
"Do you really think so, Lillet?" Amoretta asked, her face flushed with the excitement.
"Of course I do! Your voice is amazing; you know that. You were a sensation!"
"The guests did seem to like me. It felt surprisingly good to perform for them."
"Well, it ought to. Love is what you need, after all, and they loved you."
Amoretta shook her head.
"That's not love, Lillet. That's only admiration, maybe reverence and awe. Love...is what you give me." She brushed Lillet's cheek gently with her fingertips. "There's all the difference in the world."
"Thank you," Lillet said softly. "You liked performing, though?"
"I did."
"Then are you thinking of taking Mr. Ouzowen up on his offer? If he manages Maria Bacardi, he must be good at his job; she's the newest star soprano in the city."
Amoretta pursed her lips thoughtfully.
"I was, actually. I like to sing, and to make people happy by performing for them is attractive. It would also give me the chance to do something for us, if I could make some money singing."
"But I make plenty of money as a Royal Magician for us both--or was there something that you had your eye on buying?"
"No, that's not it. It's not the amount of money, it's because it would give me the chance to contribute something for us."
"I don't understand."
Amoretta smiled, that shy, sweet expression Lillet loved.
"I didn't think you would; it's one of the things that makes you so special. First you saved my life, when the professors wanted to use the angel within me against Grimlet, and then your love gave me a reason to exist. So many people struggle within themselves to find their place in life, but at least they're born naturally. I was created, an artificial thing made in a laboratory. What right do I even have to exist, if there is not some purpose for me to achieve? You gave me that purpose, Lillet."
"Amoretta..."
"But what do I give back to you? I need your love, but you only want mine. I make you happy, but you would still be Lillet without me. It's the same way in the world--you protect me, keep me safe, earn what we need to live. Even your reputation protects us. There are a lot of people in the world, still, who believe two women in love is a deviance from the natural order, or even a sin against God, but we can live together openly and freely because you're Royal Magician Lillet Blan, the prodigy whom everyone says is the greatest magician since Lujei and Calvaros. I...I want to be able to do something, no matter how small, to try and repay you for all that you are to me."
"Oh, Amoretta, that's...but I don't want anything else from you than to be who you are."
"I know. I said that. But I want to do something, not because you require it of me but for my own sake."
"Then in that case...you'd better have them reserve me a ticket for every opening night!"
"Then it's all right with you?"
"Amoretta, all I want is whatever makes you happy." There was a tiny part of Lillet that felt a sting, a jealous possessiveness that regretted Amoretta giving some of herself to anyone else, but she knew that part of herself too well to give it voice. A magician who was any sort of success at the art of sorcery had to know that seed of weakness and be able to overcome it, because that was what devils played upon. Lillet knew better than to give in, and it applied to real life as well as it did to magic.
When Amoretta took her arm and snuggled up against her enthusiastically, Lillet knew she'd won that battle again.
The Royal House of Magic was located in a wing of the palace; the crown liked to have its magicians where they could be reached quickly in time of urgent need (and where magic was concerned, the need inevitably was urgent). Lillet and Amoretta shared a room that was virtually a suite, and might as well have been since the magician's wing had its own bathhouse without having to share the facility with the rest of the castle. It was more than just a place to sleep; after several years it really had come to feel like home. The fear that Lillet felt when she put her key to the lock and felt the door swing open without being unlocked, then, was personal and intimate.
"Gaff? Are you there?" she called, thinking of the elf who was part servant and part friend, but knew at once it wasn't him, since there was no light in the room.
"Grimalkin?" Amoretta said. That was her familiar, a large black cat. A moment later, she added, "Lillet, I don't sense him anywhere."
"Oh, no; that's bad."
Lillet sent out her own magical awareness, seeking the Runes and wards she'd set in the room and activating them. They shone with light, illuminating the room, but there were nowhere near as many as there had been when they'd left; several had been broken or dispelled. As soon as she could see, Lillet's gaze went to the most precious thing she had.
"Amoretta, your flask--it's gone!"
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NOTES:
Name origins:
Baron de Sangri's name comes from Sangria
Baron Thomas Collins comes from the cocktail, Tom Collins
Maria Bacardi's name is, of course, from Bacardi
Lady Anheuser's name comes from the Anheuser-Busch brewery...I figured with all this liquor and wine running around, somebody had to stick up for plain ol' beer! :)
Ouzowen, the manager, takes his name from the Greek liquor, ouzo
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