"Yes," Jankin replied.
"Good. Any questions?"
"None. Mistress Dali was quite thorough." He repeated all the instructions he'd been given, and the man nodded in satisfaction.
"Good luck," he said as the doors opened and the duelists stepped out. At the man's nod, Jankin slipped through the doors and headed down a narrow way between two rows of tables toward the beautiful wooden dance floor in the middle of the room.
Once there, he faced the royal table, inhaling sharply at the wealth of beauty he saw there. He had not expected so relatively young a king, somehow, even though he'd heard all the rumors of marriage and death and a single child. King Shafiq was breathtaking, and it took all the training he possessed to keep his composure rather than stare like a nitwit.
He bowed, and then a single sharp bell ring filled the room. Assuming that was his signal, Jankin took up his starting position. As the music began, a fast, intense piece that required iron focus to keep up with in order not to miss a single intricate step, he snapped his fan out and fell into what he knew best. Spins, kicks, twirls, leaps, crouches and turns, muscles achingwith the effort. He worked his hips, threw the fan into the air and caught it, always making certain to flick his head just so at the right times to send his hair falling the right way, ever mindful of his breathing while keeping track of so much else.
By the time he was done, and came to his final spin before halting once more dead center in the room, his chest was heaving with exertion, though he minimized it as best he could. As the music faded, he bowed low to the royal table once more, trying not to grin at the thundering applause all around him.
When he finally lifted his head, it was to see a ridiculously beautiful man walking toward him, hair loose and falling to just past his shoulders, wearing the black pants with overlaid skirt, his jewelry gold and rubies even finer than what Jankin wore.
As the man reached him, he offered up the cup he held, presumably with the mentioned wine. "My king thanks you for the exceptional performance."
"It was my honor," Jankin said, and drank the wine as the cup was lifted, though it was strange indeed to drink from a cup he did not hold. He then looked to the king and said, "Thank you, Your Majesty."
King Shafiq smiled and gave a slight nod.
The concubine said, "If you are willing, His Majesty invites you to finish the meal with us, after you've of course had a chance to rest."
"Really?" Dali had mentioned that was a possibility, but he hadn't really believed it. Usually royals and nobles only wanted to invite him to their quarters later for a private dance. They rarely spent such visible time in public with him. "I would be honored. I'll return as quickly as I can."
The man grinned fleetingly. "No rush. The main performances are over, but music and song will continue for quite some time yet. We will see you soon." He withdrew, and Jankin returned to the door as he'd been told.
"I was invited to join His Majesty for dinner?"
"Then keep the jewels," the man who'd guided him before said. "Return to your room to clean up, and someone will be waiting to bring you back here."
"Thank you."
Thrumming with satisfaction and anticipation of this unusual development, Jankin hastened back to his room as quickly as he could without making a spectacle of himself.
In his room, he stripped off his clothes, yanked on a wrap, and all but ran to the baths. Once he was scrubbed clean in record time, he returned to his room, where he pulled on clothes of dark blue and gold that would match his peacock wrap, and twisted most of his hair up with the matching hairpin, finishing with large hoop earrings that were a favorite of his.
As promised, a woman waited in the hallway for him. She smiled and motioned for him to follow. "You danced beautifully, my lord."
"I'm no lord, but thank you. Hopefully I am sufficiently dressed for dining at the royal table."
"Of course. Anyway, when asked so late into the meal, there is no expectation of 'proper' dress. That would be borderline cruel, given what proper formal dress can entail."
"Any tips on dining with concubines? I have dined with harems before, but they were much more the 'to be seen and not heard,' to be admired but otherwise ignored, type of thing. Tavamara is quite different."
The woman looked horrified. "Ignoring the royal concubines, after the king has been generous enough to invite you to his table where they would obviously serve you, would be beyond rude. I'm not sure anyone has ever been bold enough to be that rude, not even Havarin, and they're notorious for how they treat staff and concubines."
"Yes, Havarin was where I had the experience I mentioned."
"The concubines carry the conversation. Speak freely, but never of intimate matters. If you want to compliment them, compliment them to His Majesty, as they are his harem."
"Thank you, the help is deeply appreciated."
The woman smiled. "We're always happy to help those who know to ask and do so kindly. You'd be surprised how often people think they're too good to listen to us."
"Not as surprised as you'd expect," Jankin said dryly. "People frequently think I am dancer by day, prostitute by night."
"That does not surprise me at all," the woman replied, wrinkling her nose. She bowed as they reached a pair of doors he didn't recognize. How many possible entrances could one banquet hall have? This wasn't even the grand one that he'd noticed before on his way out. "This is a private entrance for the royal family. The path is direct. A space will have been made for you, likely by one of the concubines. Goodnight, Master Jankin."
