Chapter 42 – Revealing Revelling

“Lady Shaelith?” Sir Gaudbert straightened up from his elegant bow and tilted his head. Shaelith barely heard him, as she was still staring intently at the servant carrying the poisoned wine, who was just passing behind Gaudbert and continuing straight toward Benderast.

Gaudbert turned, followed her gaze, and saw the servant with the lone cup of wine on his tray.

“Oh,” he said cheerfully. “Wine!”

And before Shaelith could even react, he had stepped into the servant’s path, snatched the cup from the tray, toasted her, and emptied it in a single, long gulp, before putting the cup back on the tray.

The servant stood there completely dumbfounded, desperately trying not to let his sheer horror show. He bowed hastily and disappeared into the crowd along with the tray.

Well, that’s just fantastic.

“Aaaaaah, an exquisite drop,” Gaudbert declared, dabbing his lips with his handkerchief. “A little tart on the finish, perhaps, but I don’t mind-“

Shaelith stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. “You shouldn’t have drunk that.”

“Oh, nonsense, believe me, my lady, I can handle quite a bit more.”

“Sir Gaudbert.” She looked him in the eyes and tried to convey that she was serious. “I believe that wine was poisoned.”

He blinked in surprise at first, then laughed a loud and hearty belly laugh. “Poisoned! Who on earth would want to poison me of all people? I’m far too entertaining to be murdered. And far too unimportant.” He winked. “Well, my lady, what about our dance?”

Over his shoulder, Shaelith saw Benderast somewhat awkwardly offering his arm to the elderly baroness assigned to him. The musicians were already striking up the first piece.

Oh, damn it, okay. At least this way I can stay somewhat close to Benderast and take care of Gaudbert right away if he shows any symptoms of poisoning.

“It would be my pleasure,” she sighed, placing her hand in the huge paw he offered.

He went on to lead her just as well and with the same astonishing light-footedness as last time, and as soon as a dance move carried her past Benderast, she took advantage of the turn.

“Don’t drink anything,” she hissed.

“What?” Benderast nearly lost his step. “Why-“

By then, Gaudbert was already leading her away again. Over the shoulder of his old baroness, Benderast sought Shaelith’s gaze and nodded to her, albeit with a slightly confused expression.

Good boy. He’s making progress.

For a while, Gaudbert led her silently through the figures with an agility that didn’t seem to fit his girth at all. At first, he still maintained the chaste Tulvian arm’s-length distance, before his hand drifted down from her hip to her buttocks during a slow passage and pulled her a little closer, which amused Shaelith.

Then, however, he lowered his head a little closer to her, and his voice became completely serious for the first time that evening.

“I believe you and your companions are underestimating the danger you’re in.” Just loud enough for her to hear him.

“I don’t think so. I think I know exactly what Gwilet is capable of.” She thought of the deception during the Hunt and the dead fletcher. And of whatever was sloshing around in Gaudbert’s stomach right now.

“I’m not so sure about that.” A turn and a cross-step. “I don’t know exactly what this tournament means to you, my lady. But you must understand that for Prince Gwilet, everything is at stake. Don’t you think the magnates of the realm would have long since begun calculating their own chances, in case Gwilet loses? That would throw the line of succession into quite a disarray. If it comes to that, the prince has nothing left to lose. And believe me, he has his followers. It could trigger a war of succession.”

“If I’ve understood Tancred’s explanation of the rules correctly,” said Shaelith, “then Honor isn’t strictly bound to the outcome of the trial anyway. Have you actually been listening to the banner? Points aside, I frankly don’t see a world in which Honor returns to Gwilet.”

“Ah, my dearest, you’ve hit the nail on the head.” Gaudbert shook his head. “I see it exactly as you do. And do you know who else sees only a slim chance of success? Prince Gwilet.” He spun her around in a sweeping turn and caught her again. “For a few days now he’s been discreetly asking around the College of Heralds for precedents involving banners whose decisions were not made of their own free will. Banners who were blackmailed or otherwise influenced.”

Shaelith nearly lost her balance. “How do you know that?”

“Because, of course, they consulted a Nalvinian legal scholar for that. The best legal scholars come from Nalvine.” He sighed dramatically. “Fortunately, in this case, they’re also terribly talkative.”

“What on earth does that even mean?” She furrowed her brow. “How could anyone force a banner to do anything?”

“Well,” said Gaudbert cheerfully, “isn’t that obvious?” He brought his mouth close to her ear again and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The insidious Dusk Elves have cast a spell on it. Those wicked witches want to use the banner to make one of their human puppets the ruler of Tulvia and then, piece by piece, subjugate the entire Triarchy, just as they’ve subjugated their men. They’ve even sent one of their most cunning witches along with their human tool, who charms and enchants the banner day and night.” He beamed at her. “I’m dancing with her right now.”

Shaelith was literally speechless.

“That’s completely ridiculous,” she finally interjected. “No one who’s listened to Honor for even a minute can seriously believe that I manipulated the banner with sorcery.”

Honor would do a lot less shit talking if I’d done that.

Still.

She remembered Mirrsoss’s remark after they’d visited the Muster, about how hot and impetuous the emotions of all those banners had been. She’d even wondered herself whether Emotional Glamour would work on a banner, but she hadn’t done it, of course. And yes, her mother had tasked her with managing Benderast and ensuring that the Triarchy remained aligned with the interests of House Vyrnara and the Shaeravyn.

But that was something entirely different than what Gwilet allegedly was insinuating.

Then again, a good lie needs no proof. If someone has motive and opportunity, then you can easily enough pin a plausible crime on them in the public eye. And it doesn’t matter if they actually did it.

“Does anyone actually believe that?” she asked.

Gaudbert winked. “No idea.” He spun her around under his arm. “For my part, I certainly feel sufficiently enchanted by you.”

He’s quite the persistent charmer.

Over his shoulder, her gaze fell on two familiar faces approaching Benderast from both sides. Gwilet’s seconds each had a lady on their arm and were dancing closer and closer to Benderast, crossing his path and forcing him to take evasive steps.

Little brats. Not on my watch!

“Sir Gaudbert,” Shaelith said sweetly, “hold on tight.”

“What-“

She stopped letting Gaudbert lead her and took the lead herself instead. And much to her satisfaction and to his credit, he simply went along with it. And once she’d gotten the two-hundred-pound knight moving, all she had to do was steer him in the right direction.

She maneuvered Gaudbert straight into the lackey standing further to the left and shoved him and his lady so forcefully out of the way that they had to take a few quick steps to keep from falling.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Shaelith exclaimed, feigning horror. “I’m terribly sorry about that!”

Gaudbert immediately realized what she was up to and beamed at her like a squire at his first tournament.

“My lady,” he whispered, delighted, “you’re using me as a battering ram.”

It actually reminds me more of bumper cars.

Without a word, she gave him a mischievous smile.

“I haven’t had this much fun in a long time!” he said blissfully. “There! Starboard ahead, the fellow with the trumpet sleeves.”

Shaelith orchestrated three more collisions until Gwilet’s seconds finally gave up and had to settle for shooting her venomous glances, which she met with a sweet smile.

Benderast slowly found his rhythm again, and the old baroness even gave him an encouraging nod.

Shaelith, on the other hand, let Gaudbert take the lead again and said nothing about the fact that his hand was resting a good deal lower than Tulvian propriety usually permitted.

He’s earned it.

She thought about what he’d told her. Of course, she couldn’t just take it all at face value, because he was close to the opposing side, after all. His friend Prince Frambert had sided with Gwilet. On the other hand, what he’d told her definitely made sense. So why was he telling her this?

Time to float a little trial balloon.

“Will you tell me,” she asked bluntly, “why your Prince Frambert hates Benderast so deeply?”

The smile vanished from Gaudbert’s face. “No.”

They danced in silence for a few moments.

“But I think you know,” he said then.

“I do not.”

He looked at her doubtfully for a long time, then shrugged impassively.

Okay, I guess this is a dead end. For now.

“Fair enough,” she said. “But you’ve told me a few other things. Why? What’s your agenda?”

“Isn’t that obvious, my lady?” His broad, unabashed grin returned. “You’re exciting, you’re beautiful, and I have every intention of pursuing you. Smart men bring gifts when they court a woman.”

Shaelith eyed him calculatingly. It could still be an attempt to feed her false information, hoping she’d make a mistake. But that wasn’t her impression. She caught herself wondering if it might be worth it to keep engaging him a bit more. Not to mention that, admittedly, he wasn’t bad company. She could only rely on her gut feeling, and her gut was telling her that-

-well, whatever her gut was telling her was interrupted by what Gaudbert’s gut had to say, and his stomach made a nasty sound loud enough to drown out the music.

“Excuse me,” said Gaudbert. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his face was as pale as Grimbart’s had been when he’d raced through the air on the grasshopper. “I must have eaten something-“

His stomach rumbled again, and then a strained, whistling flatulence escaped him, as loud as a fanfare.

“I sincerely beg your pardon, my lady, I-“

The catastrophe that followed was like a car accident in slow motion. He unleashed an incredibly long, loud, unnaturally bass-heavy and toward the end increasingly wet-sounding father of all farts.

And it smelled the part.

“Forgive me,” said Gaudbert. “Forgive me. I have to… please, forgive me.”

He simply left her standing there and practically fled the dance floor, running in tiny little steps, his pelvis completely rigid and his upper body bent forward, bowing incessantly in all directions. “Please forgive me, Your Grace! Beg your pardon, my lady! Your Majesty, I’m terribly sorry!”

And then he rushed out through one of the side doors.

So there really was something in the cup. At least it wasn’t poison.

Shaelith left the dance floor and found Grimbart, Thaelon, and Mirrsoss at the edge of the hall, where they had apparently been keeping an eye on Benderast and her. Mirrsoss stood on tiptoe with her wings tightly wrapped around herself and her antennae basically tucked away. They were very sensitive to smells.

“What did you do to him?” she asked reverently. “Was that sorcery?”

“Of course not.” Shaelith gave a brief account of the servant and the cup from which Gaudbert had drunk.

“Where did the cup go?” Grimbart growled.

“Gone, along with the servant.”

“Damn it!” The dwarf slammed his Chronosteel fist into his palm. “We’ve got to finally get our hands on some evidence.”

“So that’s why Benderast hasn’t had a drink the whole time,” Thaelon said in surprise. “The poor guy must be parched!”

Finally, the music ended, and the heralds withdrew to confer. The group started moving toward Benderast, but someone had beaten them to it.

Obelaine.

The princess had reached him before they did, and whatever she said to him seemed to throw Benderast completely off balance. His eyes widened, he rubbed his hands together hesitantly and managed a somewhat uncertain smile.

And they weren’t the only ones who had noticed. Prince Frambert had also spotted the two of them and started moving as soon as he saw Benderast standing next to Obelaine. His jaw muscles were clenching violently, and his fist was clenched so tightly around his goblet that it had turned completely white.

Obelaine noticed Frambert approaching, curtsied to Benderast, and disappeared into the crowd just before the group reached Benderast. Frambert also turned away and seemed to be following Obelaine.

“What did she want?” Shaelith asked Benderast.

“I-” Benderast began.

“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” The heralds returned.

“Later,” he muttered. “I’ll tell you later.”

The chairman of the College of Heralds unrolled a scroll and announced that, after careful consideration of their etiquette and their skills in poetry and dance, Prince Gwilet had emerged victorious over Benderast Stonefist in the Trial of Courtesy.

Two to nil.

~

The pleasant nighttime coolness outside was a relief after the stuffy ballroom full of overheated and sweaty humans wearing far too many clothes. They made their way back to their tents by the light of a lantern Grimbart was carrying and a light orb Shaelith had conjured. Along the way, Benderast greedily drained a water skin Thaelon had handed him.

“Thanks, by the way,” he said to Shaelith once he’d caught his breath. “I saw you tackling Gwilet’s people off the dance floor with that fat knight.” He grinned. “They were really getting on my nerves!” 

“I was happy to do it. Seriously. It was fun.”

The grin lingered for a moment, then he cleared his throat and asked in a tone he presumably thought was casual: “What were the two of you actually talking about the whole time? You guys… well. You talked quite a bit.”

Ah. I’m not sure I like that undertone.

“We were talking about some very interesting things. I’ll tell you about them tomorrow,” Shaelith said. “I need to think about it first.”

Benderast didn’t look happy, but he nodded and silently held the tent flap open for her. “Good night!”

Later, she lay awake next to Mirrsoss, who was sleeping peacefully, and stared up at the dark tent ceiling.

The fabricated story Gwilet was preparing was far too good. It didn’t take much imagination to realize that this lie was perfectly suited to trigger existing prejudices among some people in Tulvia. It could jeopardize everything. Everything her mother had built, as well as all the diplomatic progress she herself had worked toward in recent years. 

At that moment, she would have given anything for her mother’s advice. And at the same time, she could picture exactly what Laenre would say to her. “Of course it’s a difficult situation. Why do you think I sent my best diplomat to handle it? So go handle it.”

“Easier said than done,” Shaelith sighed softly.