16.4

Zyrdicia walked with Reznit into the Great Hall, exchanging pleasantries and making the baron feel quite important. The North's nobles had been awed by her goddess persona in the throne room; now they would be enchanted by her human one. She discovered a long time ago that the deity role worked most effectively when she pretended to be accessible to mortals, to care about them and their little lives. The human connection would only amplify their adoration of her. Remote gods earned occasional worship; earth-bound ones earned fanatical devotion.

After dazzling the baron's family with warm laughter, she moved about the room effortlessly. She planted the seeds of worship carefully in people's minds, nudging them telepathically. No one would ask again why the goddess had left. They knew instinctively after speaking with her - it was lack of sufficient faith, an absence of proper veneration on their part. Later, in their dreams, they would realize that the nation's victory - and its prosperity - could be furthered most effectively by temples and sacrifices. The miracle they had glimpsed briefly when the fortunes of the North and South reversed prior to Zyrdicia's departure hung before them like a golden apple, waiting to be coveted.

The wonder of the excessive sensory stimuli was passing. With effort, she could find a pattern within the invisible jumble. She wanted very much to just sit in a corner and absorb it. Talking to the "meat" was abysmally distracting.

She knew many of the northern noblemen already, either from the battlefield or from their visits to the Blackpool court. She had not, however, seen all the women associated with those men. Their stupidity amazed her. Zyrdicia turned from a meaningless conversation and noticed Dirk watching her closely, like a predator eying its prey.

She ignored him deliberately, surveying the room instead. A handsome, young aristocrat raised his wine glass in silent greeting across the room. She did not recognize him. He was tall and powerfully built. Like most of the men of the Northern aristocracy, he was a warrior. His high cheekbones gave his face a classically chiseled look. Short, dark hair framed a pair of intelligent-looking, large brown eyes. He regarded her curiously for a moment then smiled. The exchange of glances was interrupted as someone stopped to talk to him. Zyrdicia was then swept into another banal conversation of her own about the future of the North.

When she succeeded in extricating herself from the conversation, she looked up to see the mysterious stranger again regarding her. She sniffed the air, her nose twitching. Yes, there it was - his scent. Her stomach growled again. None of his thoughts accompanied it. Strange, she thought. Could his mind be that empty?

He set his wine glass down and made his way through the crowd toward her. Wondering who he was, she tried to force her way into his mind to discern his identity. It was stubbornly closed to her. Not a single bit of data could be gleaned. She was careful to mask her shock. Whoever he was, he was a telepath.

When he reached her, he smiled again. It was not one of the adoring, vapid smiles that most people in the room showered upon her. Instead, his expression was calculating and inviting. She found it refreshing.

He introduced himself, "Baroness, I'm honored to meet you finally. I am Count Tristan Ildwynd." He held his upturned hand out expecting her to give him her own to kiss. She humored him, offering the hand bearing the Blackpool ring. As he moved it to his lips, his forefinger moved in a sensuous circle along the underside of her palm as he held it. He kissed the top of her hand with well practiced charm. It was absurdly flirtatious. He held her gaze for a moment before relinquishing her hand. It was the same sort of subtle, seductive gesture Dirk had used early in their relationship.

She arched an eyebrow in amusement at the young man's audacity. He could not have been much past nineteen or twenty. He still possessed the illusion of invulnerability endemic to youth. "Tristan, why is it that I have never seen you at Castle Blackpool or among the northern forces in battle?"

"My late, elder brother had been fulfilling that role for our family until recently. I was away from Aparans."

"And who is your late brother?"

"The late Sir Donovain. He disgraced our family. I hope you won't hold his crime against me. Killing him, you did me a great favor, one I hope to repay someday."

"We'll see," she smiled, noting the suggestive edge to his tone. "So when I killed your brother, you inherited his lands?"

"Not quite Donovain had no lands or title to speak of, then. My father died just last week. Prince Blackpool enfeoffed me with the entire county a few days ago."

"Congratulations."

Tristan smiled roguishly. "My father just died. I'm accustomed to condolences, you know."

"It seems you have no need of them."

"You are most perceptive, my lady."

"Zyrdicia. I hate that people here insist on calling me by everything but my name."

Tristan nodded his head deferentially, "As you wish. Zyrdicia. You know, the rumors really don't do you justice."

"Rumors are rarely just. Which ones disappoint you?"

"You are reputed to be enchanting, charming and deadly. I hadn't expected such celestial beauty. Are all the women so fair in the land you come from?"

"Of course not. I'm unique in the cosmos."

"You break my heart."

"Careful. I might think you are mocking me, my over-confident friend."

"How could I? I'm still grieving for my father," he said playfully, his eyes twinkling.

Zyrdicia laughed. She liked him. Most men here treated her with deference to the point of being boring. It was rare to find anyone in Blackpool's hierarchy amusing enough to be worth talking to. Something about his playful mannerism reminded her of Magnus.

"In truth, I've been to Geshna several times in recent weeks hoping to find you there to apologize to you on behalf of my family for my brother's affront. Each time I left disappointed to find you were away."

"Surely my city didn't leave you entirely disappointed?"

"No. It's a marvel. A worthy monument to your own beauty."

"Oh, but you are a flattering one!"

"Flattery implies deceit, and I most assuredly speak the truth. Geshna is a delight to the senses."

"Which senses would those be?" Zyrdicia asked knowingly.

"Mm, several." Tristan pursed his lips. Every man in the North had heard by now that several Lyrian brothels had opened franchises in Geshna catering to unusual tastes. "There's a strange, green liquor sold there unlike anything I've ever tasted. Ambrosia."

"No, absinthe."

"Right," he smiled. "Wonderful. You fill our land with delights."

"Drinking absinthe is an art form thousands of years old in Lyr. I've lost track of more nights than I care to remember in the green fog of that elixir."

"I brought a bottle from the market on my way here. I would be honored if you would join me in my chambers later and tell me of this mysterious art of drinking it."

"I rather doubt my fiancee, your prince, would approve, Tristan."

"All the more reason to join me," he grinned. "If you are to bind yourself to him so soon, you really should take advantage of your remaining freedom. Besides, it's only fitting that we get to know each other. We are neighbors, after all. My county borders Dagonia. There's much to be gained by allying our interests."

"What interests do you have in mind?" Zyrdicia wondered, liking Tristan all the more.

"Surt. I have several mines. A mutual interest in the ore, perhaps - ore unburdened by Dagonia's trade tax."

"How do you know about that?"

"I like to be well informed. Perhaps we can find other mutual interests as well. One never knows when one might need allies in this place." He gestured to the castle walls, implying it was the prince against whom one might need to ally. His voice dropped to a whisper and he added, "Based on what I observed tonight, I suspect you may have need of one already."

"Were we that obvious?" she asked, amused not only that he had noticed the clandestine conflict, but that he had failed to grasp the perverse affection in it.

"Not at all. I'm an exceptionally careful observer. My guess is that your engagement does not represent the fairy-tale affair people are pretending it to be."

"And what do you think it represents?" Zyrdicia asked cautiously. The young man was exceptionally astute.

"I think you are only marrying my ill-tempered sovereign as part of some sort of bargain. I've figured out what he's getting out of it, but I haven't yet made sense of what you gain. If it were just after the kingdom, you could kill him and declare yourself queen by divine right. No one would mind. Some of us would ardently support you, in fact."

Something about his tone was vaguely suggestive. Did he just dare me to kill Dirk and take over the kingdom? she wondered silently, stunned by the Count's moxie. "Maybe I'm marrying your sovereign because I'm madly in love," she quipped ironically, her eyes widening.

"I doubt it."

"I'll leave you to ponder your puzzle then. Look for me in Geshna next time you are there, Tristan. Perhaps on some future occasion you won't again leave the city disappointed." Zyrdicia met his eyes again, then turned and walked away. She found her new acquaintance entertaining, if a bit disturbing.

She looked around the room again, looking for her next adventure in intrigue. She found it when her eyes settled upon a hawk-nosed, old aristocrat, standing in the far corner of the room. Catching her eye, he beckoned discretely to her and walked out of the hall, expecting her to follow. He wanted a private audience, it seemed. Amused, she pursued him. She had never found Karteian politics as humorous as she did tonight.