The Duke's Decision

Invitations for a private audience with the duke were sent four days before the ball. By that time, Marcus's list, having been revised with the arrival of more travelers reaching York, was up to eighty-two women from sixty-one different families. Almost half of the families on Marcus's list would be represented at Isolde's ball, the invites to which had been sent out to a larger list – as far as he knew, Isolde’s invitations had gone out to nearly a hundred different households. It would, Avery thought to himself, be much simpler if the two invitation lists had more in common.

He was exhausted. He’d met with a constant stream of visitors and tried his hardest to keep up with the correspondence from various functionaries, imperial bureaucrats, and nobles. That correspondence included no small number of alarmed inquiries from relatives of women invited to Isolde’s ball but not present on Marcus’s list – and thus not invited to the great hall on the following day. He’d briefly held out a small hope that the families on Marcus’s expanded list would keep their invitations confidential, but secrecy was impossible to maintain with sixty-one different families involved.

As he’d failed to answer such questions by letter or messenger, there was a fair chance he’d be pressed with them at the ball in person. Briefly, he paused on his way down the steps from the keep into the bailey, tempted to turn around. He was already fashionably late to his cousin’s ball; perhaps they would not miss him if he stayed away entirely. Then he shook his head. It was his duty to press on, show up to Isolde's ball, and dance until his feet hurt. On the dance floor, obscured by music and motion, he could have conversations that were nearly private. He continued down the steps, reviewing his plans for the evening.

Plans that he’d made with no small amount of trepidation. He'd tried to attend another of Isolde's salons, but left quickly. Flinching every time a polite lie was told made him feel like a madman; even when he tried smaller engagements. He’d gone out on a day-long hunt, with mercifully fewer opportunities for polite misdirection. He’d led a tour of York's fortifications at the request of the Earl of Northumbria, who had a sincere and professional interest in siegecraft.

He’d even paid a visit to the wizards' collegium. Beatrice had been there, and had performed a sort of social ambush that ended up with her clinging to his arm like a limpet while he talked to industrialists, investors, and necromancers. He had mixed feelings about that. She was also on the invitation list to the ball, along with many other prospective suitors that Aunt Maude had deemed explicitly unsuitable.

Avery felt he didn't have a chance of successfully keeping track of which lists everyone was on while dancing and socializing. Marcus, Isolde, and Maude would all be too busy with the hosting and running of the ball. His solution was to enlist Gregor, the new master of hounds selected by James as his successor. Gregor would sit in a concealed alcove overlooking the great hall with the smaller list of suitable prospective brides who were attending the ball and take notes.

Strictly speaking, while he was not someone Avery knew well, Gregor wasn't new to ducal service; he'd been working under James for ten years, both with the telepathic wolfhounds bred by the old duke and to a more limited degree with James's human intelligence network. He was not the skilled spymaster that James was; but he had keen observational skills, the necessary training to be able to speak mind-to-mind with Avery, and the hounds knew to obey him.

Gregor, are you in position? Avery paused by a small door in an outbuilding next to the great hall.

Yes, Your Grace. I don’t see you yet, though. Gregor's mental voice was far fainter than James’s – fainter than Marcus's, even, and Marcus’s mental voice was weak enough to justify the man’s dislike of speaking mind-to-mind with his cousins.

I'll be coming in through the back, Avery said, ducking into the outbuilding and closing the door carefully behind him. A minute later, he was peering into the great hall from behind the dais where the musicians were already playing. Side, actually, I forgot the musicians would be set up here.

After passing through several curtains and one deceptively twisty hallway, he stepped through an inconspicuous side door, nodding to the footman standing next to it, and entered the ball unannounced but not unnoticed. Several clumps of people started moving towards them, though none with more speed than Sabine. The Lancastrian woman somehow managed to disengage from her current dance partner and transport herself across a third of the room without seeming to run. Her purple and gold dress floated smoothly along as if she were gliding across ice without moving her feet at all.

“Your Grace,” Sabine said, dropping into a deep curtsy. “I am Sabine de Lancaster, and I am pleased to finally meet you.”

“Delighted. I believe my cousin Isolde has spoken of you.” Avery looked down at the glittering woman in front of him, and his eyes briefly locked on a ruby pendant. It seemed, he noted, in danger of being swallowed down the daringly-cut gold-embroidered front of the purple dress.

Hi! Metalface, nice of you to finally show up. Her face is a little higher than that. Don't drool, it's unseemly. Isolde's voice rang in his head like a slap to the face. Tell her to get up and then go dance with her.

Avery blinked, willing his eyes away from the jewel and up towards an ivory face with coral lips framed by golden tresses. “Please rise,” he said, noticing she was still holding the curtsy expectantly. “Would you like to dance?”

“I would be delighted, Your Grace,” Sabine said as she stood, a bright smile on her face. “I've heard you're quite good, I am looking forward to dancing with you.”

The first half of her second statement was false, and Avery blinked at the sudden converse realization that she really was pleased to meet him and truly wanted to dance with him. Words caught in his throat unspoken, trapped by the surprise of discovering that the beautiful woman in front of him saw him as desirable. Sabine took his frozen hand gently between hers and steered him towards the center of the room, fearlessly lacing her soft fingers around his.

The music tapered off as the musicians took note of the presence of the duke; then hastily resumed, beginning a new song. Some couples continued dancing; others made their excuses and exited the floor.

As Avery stepped into motion, a voice quietly entered his thoughts. Gregor had found his written notes. Sabine, grand-niece of the Duke of Lancaster. Reputedly a talented young wizard. Her brother Stephen is a junior member of the Order of the Luminous Rose. Maude says her breeding is impeccable. James says he doesn't trust the Duke of Lancaster any further than he can throw him. She is on the list, though.

“So, what brings you here from Lancaster?” Avery asked. He wasn't sure how to ask for that kind of information about Sabine. Was there a polite way to ask a woman if she intended to eventually betray him on the orders of her granduncle?

“Searching for an eligible husband.” She shrugged lightly at his quizzical look. “It's not as if I need anything else. My father's family owns most of Lancaster.” She smiled at him brightly again, her teeth flashing white. “You seem surprised.”

“Well… yes.” Avery felt himself blushing slightly as they stepped in, pressing their hands against each other and pushing off. “I had expected something like that, but not so directly put.”

“I wouldn't be so direct if I thought the other women in the room could hear me,” she said quietly, twirling around and then back the other direction before taking his hands again. “I'm afraid they might think less well of me for broaching the topic so bluntly.” They moved slowly around the floor.

“And would you consider me eligible?” Avery asked. “Could you really love, honor, and obey a man with talons?”

“Not very romantic, are you?” Sabine sighed, leaning forward. “I can't trust the gossip, so all I really know about you is that you're a handsome duke and that it's been very hard to get this close to you. As far as the talons go, you're considerate enough to wear blunt wooden sleeves over them when you go dancing. I'll count that in your favor.”

As the song wound down, Sabine clung to Avery's arm. “I feel a bit dizzy from all of that,” she said, her soft feminine weight leaning into him unsteadily.

“No, you don't,” Avery replied without thinking, flinching at the dissonance. She'd been so honest and forthright with him that the lie came as a surprise.

Sabine's jaw hung slack for a moment. Then she laughed softly, stepping back to a more respectable distance, only one hand lingering. “My apologies, Your Grace. Perhaps we should have danced longer. I'd have an honest excuse for clinging to your arm and begging more of your time. Excuse me.” She slipped her hand off his arm and walked quickly away from him.

Avery paused for a moment to consider his options and a pair of older women stepped in front of him, curtsying deeply. One looked familiar, but neither was of an age to be one of his suitors.

Gregor, please note that Sabine likes me, or at least liked me, but I have managed to insult her, Avery sent.

Got it, Gregor replied. If it helps you any, she doesn't look angry to me, Your Grace.

Avery nodded, making note of Gregor’s assessment without quite fully believing it.

“Splendid,” one of the older women, the more familiar-looking one, said. “I'll take you to her.”

Avery blinked, realizing that she must have asked him a question while he was distracted with his mental conversation with Gregor. His nod therefore had been taken as commitment to an introduction or possibly a dance. He followed the two women down the hall to one of the punch bowls. The women started looking around, and then one of them pointed at the dance floor.

“Oh, she's dancing already,” the matron said. “Over there, the one in the green dress. Maybe you could dance with her later?”

“I'm sure I'd love to.” Avery peered in the indicated direction. A girl with light brown hair in an emerald green gown was facing away from him. Gregor, is she on the list? The one in the green dress?

I'm not sure, did you get a name? Gregor asked. There are at least a dozen girls here in green dresses tonight.

Avery shook his head. I’m afraid I was distracted.

“She at least rode very well in the hunt, didn't she?” The matron was talking animatedly, a look of concern on his face.

“Um,” Avery said, trying and failing to connect the emerald bustle to one of the women who had ridden along with the hunt. “Well, she certainly didn't fall.” The one woman who'd fallen off her horse, Avery recalled, had bright red hair and a name that started with an F. Filona? Filipa? Something like that.

Your Grace, sent Gregor, breaking him out of his reverie. The Earl of Northumbria is approaching. His daughter Elizabeth is one of Maude's top choices. Orange dress with white ribbons. She's behind him.

The warning was none too soon; the earl was of sufficient social standing to justify disentangling himself from the two matrons without causing offense.

“Your Grace, may I introduce my daughter Elizabeth?” The earl’s daughter was surprisingly petite; Earl Ricard and his son were both nearly Avery’s own height and individually looked to be at least twice the weight.

“Delighted to meet you, Elizabeth,” Avery said, taking the girl’s small soft hand in his own and bowing low. “Would you care to dance?”

“I would love to,” she said, gingerly clasping his large hands in hers. Her fingers ran across the top of his hands; she stepped close and blinked, sniffing curiously, then stepped even closer.

Avery had meant to lead her onto the floor before starting to dance; but with her standing so close, there was nothing to be done but to place his hand between her shoulder blades and dance his way onto the floor before anyone noticed why they were standing entirely too close for casual conversation.

“Those ribbons are such a bright white,” Avery said. “Are they magically altered?”

Elizabeth looked up at him and nodded. “I think so, Your Grace. We bought them at a stall by the collegium. There was a journeyman wizard at the stall, and they were selling sheets of bright paper along with the ribbons. I wanted something new to wear at the ball, and we couldn’t… I mean, I already had this dress.”

“Interesting.” Avery lifted his arm to twirl the girl; she took the opportunity of the spin to come even closer. Avery thought he heard another sniff as the girl danced at a potentially scandalous range. When she turned her face back up to meet his gaze again, she had to crane her neck backwards; from that vantage point, he could see how the bodice of her dress had been carefully altered or mended several times. Gregor, I think she might have a cold. Also, make a note to check into the finances of Northumbria more closely.

There was a pause. Noted, Your Grace.