“What… what do you call it? This creation of yours.”
Lastonne smiled broadly, clearly knowing he’d just won the argument. “Wicked.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Talac was battling a throbbing headache. The more sensible Palace hangers on had given this morning’s talent show exhibition a miss. He wished he had the same privilege.
Unfortunately, his Grandmere was of the firm belief that a lady’s hobbies revealed a lot about her suitability as a wife.
The crowd that had gathered in the Grand Ballroom – for better acoustics – was mostly made up of men. The fathers and brothers of the bridal candidates. With only a spattering of females besides the candidates; mostly personal maids and distant relatives acting as chaperones.
Grandmere Cecelia was a little unimpressed with the turnout, her smile just a little too tight. But what did she expect when she announced at the last moment that the theme for tomorrow night’s ball to meet his parents would be a Masked Carnivale?
Several talent displays stood out for Talac so far this morning, and not in a good way.
Miss Jacquene had a unique way of strangling high notes when she sang that proved quite ear piercing. And whilst watching Lady Tolbeth instruct Sparkles to jump through hoops, play dead, and beg for treats had at first been a welcome relief. Her habit of clapping her hands and the high pitched baby voice she assumed when speaking to her beloved pet quickly became wearisome.
Without doubt Lady Niah was gifted on the pianoforte, but she chose to perform Ecobi’s Fall of Estella. A forty-two minute piece that had felt interminable. Lady Cannon had also chosen to sing, and could stay on key, problem was, her voice was not very strong. Her effort coming across as rote, the crowd quickly growing restless and disinterested.
Lady Evagene made a pretty picture, plucking away at her harp, expression serenely beautiful. She proved proficient and thankfully kept her performance under five minutes. Miss Delish read a poem she’d written in Talac’s honour. He could recall very little of the actual content. There had been a lot of rhyming, and it got a little unwieldy as she sought words to rhyme with grey, when she mentioned his eyes.
Lady Parkour performed several magic tricks with cards and scarfs that had proven adequately entertaining. Then Miss Freer had walked in, set up an easel with a blank sketchbook resting upon it and proceeded to produce a life like, if a little too complimentary, drawing of the Dowager-Queen in under ten minutes. Receiving a warm round of applause for her efforts.
Finally, all eyes had turned in Alia’s direction. Faux pity in their gazes. Smirks tugging up the corner of lips. The collective mindset being that no one here thought she had a hope in the nine circles of hell of competing with the performance of their candidate.
Alia just rose calmly to her feet in response, walking to the centre of the room that was being kept clear for the performers. From the main doors, two footmen, wearing Palace livery, wheeled in a stuffed straw target. A buzz of sudden interest humming through the crowd.
Alia strode up to the target, grabbing the nearest footman by the arm, speaking quickly into his ear. He shook his head, looking hesitant and uncomfortable. Shocking everyone, the footman reluctantly stood in front of the target. Alia indicating he should hold his arms out to the side. Slowly he followed her instructions, arms visibly trembling. Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.
Alia strode away fifteen paces, turned, and within a blink of an eye sent a blade slicing through the air to hit the target, right between the footman’s thighs. He gasped in dismay and promptly slid to the floor in a dead faint. The second footman racing forward to drag away his compatriot. Which left Alia with no partner for her knife throwing act.
She made a request for a volunteer from the audience. Suddenly everyone was staring at their polished boots, checking their watches, or cleaning their glasses. Alia finally turned in Talac’s direction, eyebrow rising slightly in a taunt, hand gesturing towards the target.
The collective gasp of those present as Talac stood up was almost enough to ruffle the heavy velvet curtains. The Prince moving quickly to stand in front of the target, holding his arms out like the footman had been instructed to do. Being so much bigger there was a lot less target for Alia to aim for. The room was set a buzz with shock, horror, and a little dash of glee. If Alia were to injure the Prince, then she would immediately be banished from the competition, if not the Realm.
Alia raised a wickedly sharp blade, made as if to throw it but stopped at the last moment. Eyeing the Prince and the small slices of target visible. More than one person present thought she was going to change her mind and recant. Instead, she turned and took a further ten paces back.
Barely pausing for a breath, she threw three blades in quick succession. The first blade landing just under the Prince’s right armpit. The second under his left armpit. And the third and final blade coming to rest in the target a few inches to the left of Talac’s throat. There followed a roar of surprise and loud applause from the gentleman present who couldn’t help but appreciate the skill involved in the display. The sound abruptly cutting off as the men suddenly remembered they were effectively cheering on the enemy. Deafening silence descending, meaning Lady Cecelia’s thoughts on Alia’s performance reached every ear.
“Quite. But how is that type of skill useful when it comes to entertaining esteemed guests?”
“There is no quicker way to kill an annoying insect that has made its way into the parlour.” Alia responded with a bland smile before bowing her head slightly in Talac’s direction, giving him silent thanks for participating.
Something made Talac glance behind him at the two footmen stepping up to remove the target. One of the men was Alia’s earlier blocking target. The man looked nothing but hale and healthy now. The quick flicker of the footman’s fingers as he glanced in Alia’s direction, signalling her, confirmed Talac’s suspicions. He’d been set up from the get go.
It gave Talac pause, how many other Palace staff were in some way connected to the Lair? Thank the Gods the Gloomenthrall clan had no ill-will for the Royals, or a secret yen to rule the Realm. As Talac was starting to get an inkling that their reach through the people they had helped over the years was a vast and intricate network.
Giving him momentary pause, could that network perhaps be utilised somehow for the good of the Realm, and by extension strengthen his own family’s position? It would take some consideration. And some careful questioning of Alia to discover the breadth of those who might in some way feel indebted to the Lair personally, or via a family member, or close friend.
Which gave Talac the perfect excuse to seek Alia out, in order to talk business. But as soon as he made that determination, he found himself obstructed at every turn. Bridal candidates wanted to compliment him on his bravery. Their fathers and brothers likewise wanted to express their admiration of him. And as the Queen-Dowager rose, to lead the way to the luncheon she had organised out on the grand terrace, the rest of the Palace guests flooded in to join them. Talac finding himself hemmed in on all sides by people who wanted something from him.
Of course, they could never just come right out and ask for a favour. They had to fawn over Talac first. Then dance around the subject trying to gauge his stance. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just brush people aside. But he could thwart or act oblivious to where they were leading the conversation. All the while making mental notes to pass along to his father later.
After lunch Talac lingered on the terrace, trapped by the sheer crush of the crowd. Suddenly a middle-aged couple appeared at his elbow. The gentleman wore his sparse hair swooped back across his skull to try and hide the fact he was mostly bald. He was rotund and well fed. His companion, Talac could only assume his lady wife, was taller than her husband, her full curves encased in a dark burgundy day dress, large sparkly diamond earbobs her main adornment whilst her dark hair was arranged in artful ringlets. She, like her husband, was smiling fiercely. This couple needed something desperately from Talac, he could see it in their eyes.
He was just about to duck away when he caught the man’s name as he introduced himself.
“Lerdon? Of the merchant shipping fleet?”
