Music and gold light, conversation and laughter, and orchestral music drifted from the open doors into the warm evening to mingle with the chirping choruses of crickets. Guests in colorful finery clustered around the entrance and Karigan wondered again what she was doing here. Like her father, she was not fond of the aristocracy and here she would be surrounded by it.
She stood in line, tugging at her collar, waiting while two guards in king’s livery checked invitations. Her palms sweated because she had not been given one, and had nothing to show the guards. She was about to turn back, to return to the sanctuary of Rider barracks, but was just then noticed by a guard.
“Hey, Greenie,” he said.
Karigan swallowed and stepped forward.
“You have an invitation?”
“I, uh . . .”
The other guard laughed. “Greenie’s trying to break in on the ball without an invitation.”
Karigan furrowed her brows. “I was invited. Rather, I was commanded here by the king himself.”
The first guard broke out laughing. “Commanded! That’s a new one. Commanded by the king to attend a ball.”
“Greenies never pull their weight,” the second said. “King’s a magic-lover if you were invited.”
“Begone, girl. We’ve lords and ladies to attend to.”
Karigan put her hands on her hips. This sort of treatment she expected from aristocrats, not from fellow commoners. “Now you listen here—”
“Is there a problem?”
Karigan almost did not recognize Alton D’Yer. He stood resplendent in a gold silk waistcoat and a long red coat. A gold medallion, undoubtedly a family heirloom, hung from his neck, and a royal blue sash was tied about his waist. He definitely was not attired in green, though his gold-winged horse brooch was pinned to his lapel. Thunderstruck by the transformation, Karigan almost missed the two guards bowing.
“There is no problem, my lord,” the first guard said. “This Green Rider has no invitation, therefore she cannot be admitted.”
“Oh,” Alton said. “It has nothing to do with the king being a magic-lover, then?”
Both guards blanched. “N-no, of course not, my lord. I mean, we didn’t mean to say . . .”
Alton’s face grew stern. “Enough. This Green Rider is with me.” He handed the invitation to the guard and steered Karigan into the ballroom.
As soon as they were through the entrance, Karigan quailed. She wanted to turn back and run, no matter what the guards would think. The ballroom exceeded the size of any great hall she had ever seen. It possessed vaulted ceilings like that of the king’s throne room, supported by carved granite pillars. The floor was checkered with exquisite tile illustrated with scenes from the legend of Hiroque, Son of the Clans. Large doors opened up to balconies and the night air.
Dancers swirled around the ballroom in brilliant colors, the long dresses of ladies sweeping the floor and their jewelry sparking in the light of crystal chandeliers. The formal coats of men twirled as they swung their partners around the dance floor. Everything seemed to sparkle and shimmer, and Karigan felt very small and plain in her Green Rider uniform.
“Oh, look,” Alton said, smiling. “Someone dug out all the old tapestries.”
Tapestries representing each province billowed on the walls. Faded and worn tapestries of original Sacor Clans, clans that had long ago disappeared, had also been hung.
“I suppose the king wants to remind us all of the days when the Eletians were not strangers to the Sacoridians,” Alton said. “There’s D’Yer’s.”
Its field was gold like his waistcoat, the crest a simple sword crossed by a hammer, and bordered by a stone wall design. It matched the design etched on his medallion. The tapestry was too far away for Karigan to read the words stitched beneath the emblem.
“The hammer of D’Yer shall break stone,” Alton quoted, as if reading her mind, “but no other shall break stone walls built by D’Yer. It is said my ancestors learned the craft of stonework from Kmaernians, and though they mastered it, they were never able to achieve what the Kmaernians had. Even so, D’Yer stonework was considered the best outside of Kmaern. The castle is built of it, and so is the D’Yer Wall. But if I’ve heard correctly, the D’Yer Wall has been breached.”
Karigan caught herself pulling at her collar again, thinking that if her father had designed the uniforms, they would be far more comfortable. She cleared her throat when she noticed Alton gazing hard at her. Did he know she was the one who had reported the breach of the D’Yer Wall? Or, was there something else in his expression? Perspiration slid down her temple.
“If I didn’t know any better,” Alton said, his voice barely heard above the orchestra, “I’d say that you were a bit shy of crowds.”
“I—I—” She blushed, confirming Alton’s suspicions. “Aristocrats,” she blurted.
“Ah, you are allergic to us.”
Karigan crossed her arms, wishing away Alton’s patronizing smile. He wasn’t the usual aristocrat, perhaps because of his connection to the Green Riders, but there were moments. . . .
“Look, the Eletian.” Alton pointed across the room, and there, flickering between the blur of swirling dancers, Zachary sat on a smaller replica of his throne chair, conversing with another. Karigan’s impression of the Eletian was simply of gold hair—gold hair such as she had never seen before.