The Grand Opera (To Walk the Path 18) Read online



  The Grand Opera (To Walk the Path 18)

  By Paul Smith.

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  The Grand Opera (To Walk the Path 18)

  Paul Smith

  Copyright 2014 Paul Smith

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to people, places or events is purely coincidental, and bears no malicious intent.

  ISBN: 9781370101191

  For more information on my work, and to keep up to date with new releases please follow me on Twitter @tattooloverboi or check out one of my galleries:

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  Blog: https://paulsmithauthor.wordpress.com/

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  'Do you hear the people sing?'

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  Author's note:

  gladefaun.deviantart.com

  Thank you.

  18. The Grand Opera.

  Once again he donned couture.

  As he stepped out into the lounge it was with a growing fire in his belly, one that finally burst into full flame as he took in the people gathered there in various stages of attire. Someone had persuaded Tomen into a very dapper dinner jacket and formal trousers that hugged his powerful legs. Braces and a bow tie completed the unlikely ensemble. Next to him Rina was a vision in red sequins, her hair piled artfully atop her head. Rivan was assuming they'd changed at home and arrived thus, given the lack of any suit carriers.

  Next to them Kelsaro was a half finished painting in her undergarments, which included a sheer underskirt…

  “Does this mean you'll be wearing a dress…?!?” he asked, stepping into the apartment's common space.

  “Zip it Fehr.” She scowled, taking in his nakedness. “And put some clothes on. We're not in a brothel now.”

  He stuck his tongue out. Turned to grin at the man sat strumming on a guitar. “Someone scrubs up well.”

  Gilli grinned from beneath his mop of hair, the only part of him that had not been tamed into elegant submission. “Life in the capital. It's a different standard.”

  “Something we hope will change after tonight.”

  They all turned to regard the Efljos, who stood in the doorway to the bedroom he and Rivan had been sharing.

  And someone at least remembered pants, Rivan thought, smiling as the Wraethi crossed the room to clasp hands with Rina and Tomen and squeeze Kelsaro's shoulder. He turned, eyes settling on Rivan once more. “You really do need to go and put some clothes on, that's far too distracting.”

  “Allow me to lend a hand?”

  Rivan turned, his eyes going wide. “Brandon?!”

  “The very same.” His former colleague stepped into the room, eyes sparkling. He looked every bit the part, Rivan thought, but then that was hardly surprising given his past. Brandon had grown up in Congregate, much as he had, but unlike him the other man had been raised amongst Ibaeran’s upper class. It was a legacy he'd always carried in his dress and bearing. “Come on, let's get you to wardrobe.”

  Rivan grinned, stepping past his friend into one of the side rooms, which had indeed been transformed whilst he slept. He looked about, shaking his head.

  Brandon laughed at his expression. “I know, right? You've no idea how difficult it is to move a dressing table up four flights of stairs quietly.”

  Rivan grinned.

  “Go wash up,” Brandon suggested, gesturing to a screen at the far end of the room, “and then we'll get started. Starina Laine has really out done himself this time.”

  Shaking his head, Rivan headed for the back of the room, butterflies taking flight in his stomach as Gilli began to play again in the next room.

  When he re-emerged Kelsaro was being buttoned into her dress. It was elegance in black, whose panelling somehow managed to convey a sense of the martial. A hair piece of raven feathers completed the look, the rouge splashing her lips the only hint of colour against her porcelain skin.

  “You...” he shook his head. “Just…” He grinned at her broadening scowl. “You should do this more often is what I’m getting at.”

  The Wraethi’s frown eased, though her eyes retained a hint of their habitual danger. “Shame it’s going to get traipsed through the sewers.”

  “It’s a canal network,” Tomen admonished, standing in the doorway. “God woman, where have you been hiding that!”

  Rivan fancied he caught a blush, though Kel hid it well. She curtseyed. “Does it please sir?”

  “It’ll do.” He grinned at her pique. “Though I still don’t see why we have to get dolled up to break into the Precinct...”

  “Because everyone will be dolled up tonight, and it’d look odd if we were the only ones wandering the halls in our civvies.”

  “Servants won’t be...”

  Kelsaro crossed the room to place a hand on each of his shoulders, offering Tomen the sort of consoling smile usually reserved for difficult children. “Yes, but the servants don’t usually get to go where we need to.” She linked an arm through his, steering him from the room. “Let’s leave the boys to finish primping.”

  Riva shook his head turning back to Brandon.

  “She’s quite something.”

  Rivan grinned. “A very diplomatic description.”

  “Come on, you’d better sit. I’ve strict instructions on how this should look.”

  Rivan raised an eyebrow as he lowered himself into the chair. “I’m not sure whether I should be worried or excited.”

  “Don’t panic, there’s nothing too outlandish. We’re just going for a particular impression is all.” He surveyed Rivan speculatively. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing you’ve grown your hair again.”

  When Brandon was finished they both stood before the room’s floor length mirror surveying his handiwork.

  “Well...” Rivan shook his head, glancing at the other Consort. “You should consider doing this for a living you know.”

  “Funny you should say that...”

  “Oh?”

  “Starina’s offered to sponsor me.”

  “But that’s…!” Rivan hugged his friend, beaming at the other man’s obvious pride. “That’s fantastic news!”

  “Thank you. Careful now, no crying!” He smiled, using a tissue to dab delicately at the corners of Rivan’s eyes. “Least not until it’s set anyway.”

  Rivan nodded, schooling his emotions. Taking a deep breath he turned back to survey the figure in the mirror. Brandon had been right, Starina really had outdone himself. He looked like some fairytale Sarista from the Aurjael. The jacket was short in the military style, the trousers tailored to hug the leg. He fingered the silk of the shirt, marvelling again at the quality. Brandon had done his hair and make-up to match the ensemble, accents of red on black mirrored in the jacket and boots.

  They both turned at the Efljos stepped into the room. Both men stood for a moment surveying each other, a war of emotions filling the space between them. Rivan shook his head in wonder anew as Galairel crossed the room to stand before the mirror with him, completing the tableau. Here was the picture of what he would look like in a decade’s time. With the mirrored outfits and make-up the similarity between them was obvious, his resemblance to the Wraethi’s dead brother unmistakeable…

  “The painting...” Rivan suddenly realised, glancing from Lair to Brandon. “I look like the painting.”

  Galairel nodded. “It was produced on the eve of his ascension to power. I thought it would serve as fitting inspiration for tonight.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Rivan shook his head, gazing at their reflection once again. Lair’s suit was the deep red of dried blood, accented in black, the opposite of his. The detailing of each had been artfully considered to complemen
t the other, rather than them being direct reflections.

  “Are you two quite finished preening in here?”

  They turned to find Kelsaro stood in the doorway, hands on hips.

  “I think we’re good,” Rivan replied, glancing at his partner.

  “Well then, let’s get this show on the road...”

  It had started to snow.

  As they stepped out into the chill night air Rivan shivered, drawing the long coat Brandon had produced from the wardrobe closer about him. The Consort was not accompanying them, his job being to remove as much evidence as possible that the apartment had been occupied in case things went south, before vanishing into the city. A quick hug and a kiss had to suffice for a goodbye. There was little time for anything else now but it still left Rivan with a morose feeling in the pit of his stomach. He made an effort to banish it, reminding himself of the faith he had in those gathered here as he glanced about. At his side Galairel was also bundling himself up, Rina and Kelsaro clutching fur stoles tight about their shoulders. Only Tomen seemed unconcerned, shrugging at Rivan’s disbelieving look.

  “Grew up on