The Hunt

[Jay Carpenter]

Daryen

Calculations and considerations carefully composed behind the expertly crafted mask of a charming King, Daryen stepped into the light. The lamps and the stars could not compare to the brilliance of his smile, the sheen of his hair, the glow of his skin. Playfully mischief by nature, reserved and deliberate by nurture, the middle ground of politics was a perfect playground. The drums struck as he appeared, the musicians on their dais anticipating his arrival in a crescendo far livelier than the earlier pieces meant more to fill idle conversations than inspire attention. One hand waved in mass greeting as the throngs parted before him, greeting him in their own way- from the enthusiastic cheers of the mildly inebriated to the delicate uplifting of otherwise untouched flutes.

He felt the effect of Trista's presence ripple through the crowd like the vibrations of a distant but fast approaching cavalry. Her arm hovered over his in perfect decorum, her face as silent with the promise of death as his was loud with the shout of life. Her features belonged in the light, all delicately chiseled musculature and elegant proportions. Her mechanical grace adapted well the the sharp heels that made her tall enough to look a short Domani woman in the eye. She still looked pale compared to the Domani, if not so much as the Accepted trying so hard to avoid the ties she was already unknowingly entangled in. Her dress was a sanguine red, so dark it might have been black were it not for the way it brought color from her eyes. Tendrils of gold curled up from the hems in imitation of smoke, matching the gold accents of Daryen's outfit as clearly as if it marked her as his. Slits in either side allowed for movement should she need it, and the rapier belted to her waist served as a blaring warning that further convoluted their contrasting image.

They whispered. Who was she? A lover? A protector? Both? But the fetal rumors fell silent as he took his place on the dais of honor. He spoke words of gracious thanks for their presence, well wishes for their families and blessings for a good night. They swooned to his voice like snakes to a charmer's flute, and then swarmed the hard wood panels laid out for dancing as he released them to their merriment.

Some Kings would remain on their dais and watch the night unfold, but Daryen returned to the floor like the child jumping to the sea. He danced and drank and sang, if never so much as inebriated memories might assume. Not content to merely toe the line of propriety he danced deftly along its edge, never faltering. Trista watched passively from the dais, ever wary of danger. As the night wore on she could not help but wonder at his unconcern- did he not worry they would warp his pleasure into vice? And yet as she watched they adored him for his minor indulgence, how the little he gave was just enough to earn their trust without being so much that he lost their respect. She watched as he coaxed smile after smile from faces of veiled suspicion and awkward anxiety. The simple act of joining the lowly for a toast, or taking a good-natured bet from the high. Trista very nearly managed amusement as the Asha'man King bested the eldest son of a competing House in a race wherein they both walked on their hands to the finish. The King rose with a bow and a smile to laughter and cheers, the members of the House pretending anger, shouting about One Power trickery.

Very soon Trista came to understand that there were formal parties more typical of what one might expect of a noble court and its council, particularly those where Arad Doman hosted dignitaries from outside lands. But this it seemed was a private gathering, far more informal by comparison, though you might never tell given the number of attendees and their attire. Most of whom settled in to ignoring her beyond sneaking curiously glances.

Daryen continued to mingle, managing to convince the elderly grandmother of House Rajimi to dance and being rewarded with a kiss that made one of his generals laugh so hard he toppled his chair over. Serving girls slipped through the crowd with small glasses of a clear, wicked-smelling liquid one informed her was distilled from star thistles. The gaidar was as near to furious as she might ever be as she watched Daryen raise his first into the air along with several others, all yelling "To the stars!"
and then downing the contents in one swallow. Surely a King and Asha'man was not so incompetent! Soon after however, Trista realized that as many as he was offered he was a master of distraction and ended up actually drinking only very few. And those few were always delivered by the same serving girl.

The party wore on into the night. Endlessly.