Soul of the Fire

She giggled again and gently bumped his shoulder with hers. Dalton watched Claudine applaud from a table to the right. To his left Stein stabbed-a chunk of meat and with shameless manners pulled it from the knife with his teeth. He chewed with his mouth open as he viewed the entertainment. This didn't look to be the sort of entertainment Stein favored.

Servers had already begun carrying in silver chargers of the fish course, taking them to the dresser table for saucing and dressing before service. The Sovereign had his own servants at a sideboard to taste and prepare his food. They used knives they had brought with them to slice off for the Sovereign and his family the choice upper crust of rolls and breads. They had other knives just to prepare the trenchers upon which the Sovereign's food was placed, which, unlike everyone else's plates, were changed after each course. They had one knife to slice, one to trim, and one just to smooth the trenchers.

The Minister leaned close, his fingers holding a slice of pork he had dipped in mustard. "I heard a rumor that there is a woman who might be inclined to spread unpleasant lies. Perhaps you should inquire after the matter."

From the platter he shared with Teresa, Dalton plucked up with his second finger and thumb a slice of pear in almond milk. "Yes, Minister, I already have. She intends no disrespect." He popped the pear in his mouth.

The Minister lifted an eyebrow. "Well and good, then."

He grinned and winked past Dalton. Smiling, Teresa bowed her head in acknowledgment of his greeting.

"Ah, my dear Teresa, have I yet told you that you look especially divine this evening. And your hair is wondrous- it makes you look as if you are a good spirit come to grace my table. If you weren't married to my right-hand man, I'd invite you to a dance, later."

The Minister rarely danced with anyone but his wife and, as a matter of protocol, visiting dignitaries.

"Minister, I would be honored," Teresa said, stumbling over the words, "as would my husband-I'm sure. I could be in no better hands on the dance floor-or anywhere."

Despite Teresa's usual ability to maintain a state of social equanimity, she blushed at the high honor Bertrand had almost extended. She fussed with the glittering sequins tied in her hair, aware of envious eyes watching her speak with the Minister of Culture himself.

Dalton knew by the scowl behind the Minister that there was no need to fret that such a dance-with the man doubtlessly pressing up against Teresa's half-exposed bosom- would take place. Lady Chanboor would not have Bertrand formally showing such a lack of complete devotion to her.

Dalton returned to business, steering the conversation in the direction of his intentions. "One of the officials from the city is very concerned about the situation we spoke of."

"What did he say?" Bertrand knew which Director they were discussing and wisely refrained from using names aloud, but his eyes flashed anger.

"Nothing," Dalton assured him. "But the man is persistent. He might inquire after matters-press for explanations. There are those who conspire against us, and would be eager to stir the cry of impropriety. It would be a bothersome waste of time and take us away from our duty to the Anderith people, were we forced to acquit ourselves of groundless accusations of misconduct."

"The whole idea is absurd," the Minister said, as he followed in the form of their cover conversation. "You don't really believe, do you, that people really plot to oppose our good works?"

His words sounded by rote, he used them so often. Simple prudence required that public discussion be circumspect. There might be gifted people slipped in among the guests, hoping to use their skill to overhear something not meant to be heard.

Dalton himself employed a gifted woman with such talent.

"We devote our lives to doing the work of the Anderith people," Dalton said, "and yet there are those greedy few who would wish to stall the progress we make on behalf of the working people."

From the trencher he shared with his wife, Bertrand picked up a roasted swan wing and dragged it through a small bowl of frumenty sauce. "You think fomenters might be intending to cause trouble, then?"

Lady Chanboor, closely following the conversation, leaned close to her husband. "Agitators would jump at the chance to destroy Bertrand's good work. They would willingly aid any troublemaker." She glanced pointedly to the Sovereign being fed from the fingers of his young wife. "We have important work before us and don't need antagonists meddling in our efforts."

Bertrand Chanboor was the most likely candidate to be named Sovereign, but there were those who opposed him. Once named, a Sovereign served for life. Any slip at such a critical time could remove the Minister from consideration. There were any number of people wishing he would make such a slip, and they would be watching and listening for it.