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26: A Copper for Your Thoughts

The evening progressed with all the joyfulness and energy surrounding such a celebration, but Blayre now struggled to feel any of it. The weight of Duke Lonan's gaze still felt heavy on her shoulders, like a suffocating funeral shroud.

She picked at the finger foods presented to her, and half listened to the hum of conversation around her as Ainslee hung on Seaver's arm and Fletcher and Avery conversed on the topic of the best bladesmiths in the realm. Alessa had disappeared for the moment.

Blayre looked back to Briannon and felt the room again with her sense, but the attempt was futile. The crowd was too large here for her to be of much use. But she expected that Lonan didn't know that. He was always close to the Queen as she moved around the ballroom, socializing. He hovered over her like a mother duck, albeit a sinister one.

Blayre's gaze was like a magnet to Rory even when they were covered head to toe in dirt and sweat from the road, let alone tonight. He had no right to look as good as he did dressed in an emerald and gold brocade tailcoat over black pants and shiny leather boots. But flinched every time their eyes met, and forced herself to tear her gaze away, worried that Lonan's disapproving scowl would find her.

"A copper for your thoughts, dear lady."

Blayre started, and looked at Caval who had somehow reappeared at her elbow, handing her another drink, which she accepted but only sipped slowly at. She needed to be on high alert.

Damn responsibilities and royal families. Damn them to all twelve hells. The half-genuine traitorous thoughts boiled around in her head.

She turned back to Caval, "Sometimes I want to run away from all of, this," She waved a hand indicating the crowd and the grandeur of the coronation ball, "And live in the wilderness with no responsibilities and no one to worry about."

Caval chuckled, "If you weren't so skilled at what you do, I'd say you picked the wrong profession."

Blayre sighed. "It's not that I don't enjoy what I do, but lately..."

"You're like a wild thing," Caval said to her, his gaze never moving from her, though hers darted to him and away again like a bird. "You need to be ever moving, ever changing. What you've been doing these past weeks does not quell your desire to explore."

"You somehow know me better than I know myself," Blayre laughed, her mood lifting considerably.

"I'm just observant," Caval smiled, raising his glass in mock toast. She clinked her glass against his and took a sip.

After a pause he said, "I don't think you've had enough to drink, but would you be willing to enter the next dance with me?"

"Well..." she nearly glanced toward Rorrick, but looked for Briannon instead, finding the Queen standing on the outskirts of the dance floor, as though ready to take flight. "I suppose I could accept." Though she knew once she had entered the dance floor, if Rorrick approached her, she couldn't decline.

Caval's hand as warm and dry in contrast to her own which was clammy, and not just from the lightly humid summer air. He pulled her out to the dance floor, where she took in her surroundings, relieved to find that Briannon had entered the dance floor herself. She didn't feel as self conscious of Duke Lonan with the Queen out here.

Blayre's job was to blend in. And blend in she would.

Not being a very good dancer, Blayre found that until she found her rhythm, keeping her sense steadily reaching for possible magic use was more difficult than usual - not impossible, or draining in anyway, but certainly a challenge. In crowds she had been trained to use it as more of a net. Project it out and over, as though you are trying to catch as many fish as possible. Be sure to spread evenly. She recited the words of her mentor in her head, as Caval spun her around, her diaphanous skirt twirling around her like a whirlpool. The song was fun and upbeat and soon Blayre had found a balance between her consciousness and dancing. The pace was too fast to allow for much talking.