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Lio left his contribution in the glassmakers’ pavilion and returned to the entrance of the fair grounds. He joined those who would welcome the embassy under a banner depicting a Tenebran blacksmith’s hammer crossed with a Hesperine paintbrush. Spell lights enhanced by the geomagi made the area bright and warm.
Lyros’s mother and father waited at the head of the gathering. Timarete might easily be mistaken for an initiate, with her large eyes and delicate, heart-shaped face, but her heavy braids and even heavier aura of power marked her as an elder firstblood. So did the bandolier of art supplies she wore, the very same one portrayed in her founder’s statue in the harbor. She and Astrapas smiled at Lio as he went to stand by their son and Grace-son.
“This is my favorite event so far,” Mak said.
“Why?” Lyros gave him a sly smile. “Because we’re going to go into a dark room and look at my—”
“If that’s what you were putting on display, the embassy wouldn’t be invited.” Mak gave him a squeeze. “I was going to say it’s nice to see everyone in their work robes for a change, instead of formal silks.”
Lyros nodded. “Mother and all the other mentors heartily approve of practical attire for the crafters’ events.”
“I wish Cassia had more confidence in our humble attire,” Lio said. “I explained to her we hoped to appeal to the Tenebrans’ pragmatism by putting away our formal robes this week. But she believes it won’t work.”
“Why not?” Lyros asked.
“She says,” Lio quoted, “‘You could sooner take the shine off a god than make a Hesperine appear plain.’”
Mak chuckled. “Say, do you think she might be in love with you?”
Lio didn’t answer. His braid, thin as it was, seemed to weigh on him.
Lyros gave him a look and lowered his voice. “You haven’t told her yet?”
“Still waiting for the right time. I don’t want to ask her until I’m sure what her answer will be.”
“How can she be sure of her answer before she knows the question?” Lyros asked.
“You’re both sure,” Mak said. “Just tell her so we can start celebrating already.”
The embassy arrived at that moment, sparing Lio from replying. As the mortals came within reach of the warm lights, they put back their hoods and cloaks. At the sight of Cassia’s gardening dress, Lio swallowed and shut his lips. Focus. Her attire was not an invitation to him this time, but a political statement.
It seemed her part of tonight’s plan was a success so far, for the Kyrians wore their temple work robes, and Cassia’s supporters among the lords were dressed in sturdy homespun as if for a day in the fields.
When Chrysanthos approached Timarete, Lio’s satisfaction vanished. It was no surprise the mages of Anthros were in their full regalia, and Skleros appeared dressed for a bloodbath as usual. Lio took it as a warning that the Cordians did not let Cassia anywhere near the front of the group. It was the Dexion who exchanged courteous remarks with Lyros’s parents as if compliments were instruments of torture.
Lio knew this posturing would not be the worst consequence of Cassia’s triumph at the scholars’ circles. They must be ready for whatever Chrysanthos might do to assert his authority over her.
“Our House and grounds are open to you, honored guests,” Timarete announced. “Wander where you please, taste what you will, test the works of our hands, and discover for yourself the meanings in our art. Enjoy the fair.”
She unleashed the dazed mortals upon the sensuous pageant before them, and the spell-lit pathways and silken grottoes drew them in.
THE GEM OF ORTHROS
Whenever Cassia chose toconceal her expression, no one could tell she was hiding anything. Lio knew that the deliberate, thoughtful look she gave him under the glassmakers’ pavilion was like a laugh out loud by her standards. His mouth twitched.
Standing on opposite sides ofThe Grace Goat, they watched the Tenebrans stare into the nanny’s eyes and contemplate the mysteries of her smile.
Lord Severin furrowed his brows. Lord Adrogan tilted his head to one side. Lord Gaius crossed his arms.
“Perhaps,” Benedict suggested, “goats hold some symbolism for Hesperines that we have yet to learn.”
Lord Adrogan hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Well, you’re the expert, aren’t you? I saw all those notes you were taking at every library the Hesperines dragged us through.”
“I am keeping a written record of our journey,” Benedict replied. “I am expected to return with a report for my liege.”
“Oh,” said Lord Adrogan, “I thought you’d changed your mind about becoming a temple scroll pusher. I expected you to start praying over your scribbles any moment.”
Master Gorgos signed a glyph of Anthros at the nanny goat. “Anthros sees your loyalty, Sir Benedict. You do well to remain diligent in your prayers. Unholy symbols are everywhere.”
