Ilaria held court in a side room, playing Wicked Grace with a gaggle of older women and listening with half an ear to their gossip. So-and-so had had a baby; whatsherface was getting married later this spring. How would tonight influence all the rest of the year’s parties? A fashion for lilies and velvet, perhaps. Would the Archon send soldiers to Seheron this autumn, as was always done before the barrier? Of course: it built upon the character of the nation’s young soldiers.
It was all incredibly dull. The polite wagers were too small, these remembered acquaintances from Ilaria’s past life now mothers and grandmothers. They did not know her anymore, and the thrill of that discovery faded in less than five hands. Ilaria Obsidian excused herself and made her way back to the ballroom, smoothing her venom green skirts around her hips.
From the upper balcony, she had an excellent view. It was still so early into the night – some Low House Lordling was paying obeisance to the Archon, a queue beginning to form behind him. As Ilaria would not be seen standing in line for anything under the sun, she would need to find amusement elsewhere.
Exactly where? It was not yet obvious. She accepted a flute of champagne from a gilded platter and took the stairs down. For a moment, she thought that she glimpsed a familiar head of dark, curly hair. Ilaria’s brow creased, then smoothed back into poised neutrality. Just another memory, almost certainly. She banished it from her thoughts, drifting closer to appreciate the orchestra.
A cat batted at the hem of her gown, then stalked away from her, tail making a question mark. Of all the Archons she had seen, there had been no other so indulgent toward his animals. It was a strange distinction, one that may well get left out of the history books.
It was all incredibly dull. The polite wagers were too small, these remembered acquaintances from Ilaria’s past life now mothers and grandmothers. They did not know her anymore, and the thrill of that discovery faded in less than five hands. Ilaria Obsidian excused herself and made her way back to the ballroom, smoothing her venom green skirts around her hips.
From the upper balcony, she had an excellent view. It was still so early into the night – some Low House Lordling was paying obeisance to the Archon, a queue beginning to form behind him. As Ilaria would not be seen standing in line for anything under the sun, she would need to find amusement elsewhere.
Exactly where? It was not yet obvious. She accepted a flute of champagne from a gilded platter and took the stairs down. For a moment, she thought that she glimpsed a familiar head of dark, curly hair. Ilaria’s brow creased, then smoothed back into poised neutrality. Just another memory, almost certainly. She banished it from her thoughts, drifting closer to appreciate the orchestra.
A cat batted at the hem of her gown, then stalked away from her, tail making a question mark. Of all the Archons she had seen, there had been no other so indulgent toward his animals. It was a strange distinction, one that may well get left out of the history books.
05-11-2024, 03:46 PM
