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

thinned sourly. “They’ve given me strict guidelines. Though I suppose I should be grateful at least that they haven’t tried to tie me to a script.”

  “As if they could...”

  But the exotic was shaking her head, one hand touching his cheek, her expression melancholy. “Things have changed so much, my friend. Incarnate is a dangerous place for those who speak their mind...” She straightened, a brisk smile once again pouting her full lips “...Which is why you boys are here. Come, I’ll walk you up to your seats. You’re my special guests tonight, part of my rider you understand.” Her eyes flashed again as she glanced around the room, gesturing with one elegantly lacquered set of talons at the assembled drag. “You are, of course, listed under other names...” as they stepped out once more into the chaos of the corridor beyond; apparently they were not the only well wishers offering last minute greetings to tonight’s stars. “You’re down on the guest list as envoys for the Darans.” She paused at the corridor’s head to ensure they’d not lost any of their party, glancing at Rivan briefly by the light of the coral lanterns. “Emerline sends her regards, by the way.”

  Rivan actually blushed, and stuck his tongue out at the satisfied smile that touched Daes’ full lips. “Don’t worry sweetheart, he doesn’t strike me as the jealous type.” And she flicked one manicured hand in the Efljos’ direction. He was deep in conversation with Nasheil, the pair of them surrounded by gossiping men in frocks. The Torsman smiled awkwardly as the flock of drag queens approached and began cooing over his chest, clearly uncertain where to put himself.

  “Discomfiture. A powerful weapon most people underestimate.”

  Rivan grinned as they shared a knowing look. It was a play he had used himself on more than one occasion to great effect.

  “Come,” Daes gestured towards a set of stairs at the adjoining corridor’s far end. “Talu will kill me if I delay her entrance.”

  Rivan felt a little leap in his chest as they made for the stairwell at the corridor’s far end. In all this he’d forgotten he was actually going to get to see the Diva perform again, for all she was never destined to get beyond the first act...

  I wonder how they sold that one to her, he pondered, as Daes took his hand to lead him out into the bustle of the foyer, where the bell had just sounded for ten minutes to curtain.

  “This, I’m afraid, is where I leave you boys.”

  They were stood outside the entrances to one of the boxes that lined the first tier of the auditorium, extending forward from the dress circle.

  “You’ll be okay?”

  Daes placed one elegant hand on Rivan’s shoulder, smiling sweetly at him. “Darling, it’s you we should be worried about. You’re the man planning to start a war.” She chuckled. “Though I’m not sure it’s your face we’d be using to launch a thousand ships.”

  “Hey!”

  “Hush.” The Exotic leant in to kiss his cheek, glancing sidelong at Galairel as she withdrew. “You take care of him now, you hear?” she demanded of the Wraethi, her eyes on Rivan. “Be a lot of angry people lining up for a piece of you if he gets hurt.”

  “A fact I am painfully aware of,” Galairel assured her. “Don’t worry, he’ll be returned without a scratch.”

  “’Returned’…?!” Rivan blustered. He was aiming for comedy, but there had been an undertone in the Wraethi’s tone he did not like. He tried to catch Lair’s eye, but the Efljos wasn’t having any of it, his attention on the young immortal stood to one side of the gathered exotics. In his suit and round dark glasses he looked like a dark prince from the Night Empire, standing watch over his flock of peacocks.

  The bell sounded again, sending Daes’ entourage into paroxysms of excitement. Glam looked over her shoulder, offering Rivan a tired smile as she turned back. “Time to go. You be good now.”

  He nodded, accepting a final embrace. “Take care?”

  “I will. Just do me one favour?”

  Rivan nodded.

  “Kick their hypocritical asses off our island.”

  He grinned. Squeezed her hand a final time as her companions pulled her away through a side door. Nashiel offered a silent salute as he closed the door behind them.

  “He seems nice,” Rivan offered as they stepped through the doorway into their box. Programs waited on their seats, along with a bucket of chilled wine and twin glasses. A pair of opera glasses stood on a small table to the side.

  Galairel nodded. “A credit to our cause.” He offered Rivan a reassuring smile. “He’ll keep her safe, don’t worry. Though something tells me anyone trying to lay a hand on her will have a hard time of it.”

  “Hmm, I imagine...” He glanced at the man next to him, debating whether to say something…

  “Don’t.” Lair shook his head minutely. “Not now, please? We need our heads in the game.”

  Rivan bowed his accent. Gestured to the wine questioningly.

  “Actually I think I will.”

  Nodding silently, he poured for them both, returning the bottle to its bucket before taking his seat to stare out over the spectacle below. The place was opulence embodied. Fluted columns rose about the walls, climbing upward to support successive tiers of the boxes and the three balcony circles. All was done in shades of warm gold, cream marble and rich scarlet drapery. Soft lighting came from the coral lanterns placed artfully in sconces throughout the hall, picking out the assembled in their finery. The stairwells and foyer had been beautiful but this was something else.

  Lair’s touch on his shoulder made him jump. He turned to the Wraethi, eyes apologetic.

  “There.” Galairel pointed to the row of boxes opposite. Rivan stared out across the vast gulf, eyes squinting as he worked to pick out the detail. People were arriving, taking their places in the largest of the boxes opposite, which stood nearest the stage. A woman in scarlet turned and he nodded confirmation as he recognised the patrician set of her jaw, the sweep of her brow. She had inherited the same features as her brother. It had made her handsome rather than pretty, but that had evidently served her well when coupled with the ambition that seemed to run in the veins of every Soone he’d met so far. Mikael, Clarissa, they all shared it: that need to excel, to push themselves.

  Lucky for us the younger generation seem to have developed a moral compass to go with it. Though there was of course Marielle…

  Exception to every rule.

  Sighing, he watched Ariana and her entourage settle into their places. Her husband was, apparently, absent, though a number of other men accompanied her group including one wearing the furs of a Myson.

  Calistair.

  They had been warned about the head of the Fangs by Mikael, who seemed to harbour a wary respect for his former boss.

  A man in the dress robes of a Tor commander took the seat at her other side and Rivan realised with a start he recognised him too. He looked at Galairel, who nodded.

  “Daeon. The younger. His brother’s there too.”

  Rivan spotted him as he leant across his brother’s shoulder to speak to the Soone Sarista.

  Then the lights were dimming, plunging the assembled into relative darkness. Rivan turned to the stage, ignoring the glasses. A single spot sprung into being, the curtains rustling as they disgorged an elegant figure out into the twilight.

  Daes Glam strutted forwards, hands clasped before her as she reached her mark beneath the falling light, sequins and glitter coming alive as she turned smiling features out across the assembled.

  Rivan fancied only those who knew her well would be able to see past the mask to the cold resolve beneath.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome! To tonight’s gala performance on this very important Solstice Eve...”

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