I blinked, returning my attention to the Minister. Though some of the women had looked over at us with curiosity, it was apparent none of the men thought it worth introducing us. It took me a moment to recall what the Minister was talking about, but I recognized the name, for more than one reason. “The home of the famous Lokapir parumb? The most marvelous dried parumb found their way here last year and I have been trying to get more ever since. My mother wants to use them in tea.”
“It will be a while, I’m afraid,” Kokush said, the barest suggestion of a frown in his voice if not his expression. “It is grown near the border and most of the season’s harvest and many of next year’s plants were destroyed in the annexation of Lios. There was a fire.” His eyes darted to the pack of women on the opposite side of the seating area, then returned.
My shocked groan was an easy lie. Of course I had heard about the fire; the price of the dried fruit had blown out immediately, to my mother’s ire. However, the parumb were not the victims of the annexation with whom I was concerned. “How dreadful. But of course we did hear about Lios, even all the way down here. Is it true the Crown Prince himself rode in to take the fortress?”
Against my innocently curious words, the Minister’s guarded air returned like a cloak had been thrown around him. “General Zoho led the liberation force, but His Highness the Prince followed soon after to greet our new citizens and establish the Imperial Governor.”
The liberation force. Is that what you’d call it if he sent his army down here? I wanted to ask, And how did those new citizens feel about their “liberation”? but instead I smiled sweetly. “How fortunate for your new citizens.”
Ectar made a sound that might have been laughter or might have been agreement.
“I have not yet had the pleasure of speaking to His Highness, of course.” I looked under my eyelashes at Ectar, willing him to walk the path I had laid out for him. “Will he be here today?” But instead, it was his turn to look disquieted.
“No, no. My uncle the Prince is … a very busy and powerful man. He is not familiar with your city or your customs, Credola Kalina. He does not speak Sjon, and does not like to rely too much on translators.” He reached over and patted my forearm. “Do not trouble yourself—I daresay I can keep you entertained! Besides, there will be plenty of time for formality if you come to Izruitn.”
Kokush swiveled to Ectar, his shoulders tense. “What do you mean by that, my lord?”
“I forget rumors don’t always worm their way down every hole,” Ectar said airily, and the Minister’s nostrils flared. “Credola Kalina is to be the nominated Ambassador for Sjona.” His pleasure in conveying information the Minister lacked was obvious.
“My appointment has not been finalized,” I said, truthfully. The Administrative Guild had not even formally proposed the appointment, let alone had it accepted by the Talafan government, though the Guild deliberations had been far from secret. My fame and my family name gave me a high profile, but counting against me were not only the gender issues in the Empire but also my relative inexperience, and my well-known health issues. The old Kalina would never have put herself forward against arguably worthier candidates, but the old Kalina had not known the capabilities of our country’s enemies, and what we could lose if they struck again. Someone Tain could rely on absolutely needed to be digging into the Empire’s position, and on whom could he ever rely more than me? “Perhaps it is fortunate we have run into each other, Minister Kokush. It will be easier for you to assess my suitability face-to-face, rather than as a mere figure in a story, do you not think?”
His hands closed together purposefully. There was a long pause, then he nodded. “Indeed, Credola Kalina. Very fortunate. Your Talafan is very good, I must say.”
“Thank you. I have worked hard to improve.” When I had been too ill to leave my bed, Jov had hired me a Talafan tutor. Focusing on improving those skills had kept me sane in my confinement, and kept my mind occupied on something other than the fears that waited for me whenever my thoughts drifted.
“Ah look! The first dancers have arrived!”
We all leaned forward to see dancers filing out onto the freestanding performance stage below, bare-legged, palumas pale against their dark skin, bright crisscrossed cording up their torsos and down their arms. “Where are the ribbons?” Ectar asked.
I smiled. “Just watch.”
The music sounded faint and wispy from here. But ribbon dancing was about making music visual, and quickly Kokush and Ectar became transfixed as the dancers spun, at first gently and then more forcefully, and began to release their costumes with the rhythmic contortions that unwound what had appeared to be ordinary cording into long, bright ribbons. Ectar exclaimed in delight as the dancers all unwound the last of the binding around their hips and flung the rippling ends of ribbon into the center of the stage. They hurled themselves around the space with athleticism and elegance, and soon the entire stage was filled with a constant swirl of color and motion. So entrancing was the performance that when a servant appeared at our side to offer sweet and savory crusted nuts, it took her three attempts to get the men’s attention.
“Such control!” Kokush murmured, absently accepting a little cone of nuts without taking his eyes from the stage. “The ribbons are longer than the dancers. How do they not become entangled?”
“With rather a lot of practice,” I said. “And probably a lot of swearing in the process.”
He surprised me by laughing. Across the room, the dour ladies’ escort stopped eating to give a sharp look in our direction.
Onstage, attendants threw out a change of ribbons, all blues and greens, and the dancers moved in alternating patterns, the ribbons flowing like beautiful waves. “It is like water,” Ectar said, and I nodded.
“This is an homage to our traditional sea dance.”
Kokush glanced at me quizzically. “But Sjona has no ocean, Credola Kalina.”
“There is a very fine painting of the ocean in the guesthouse, too,” Ectar pointed out. “I assumed a foreign artist.”
I smiled again. “It’s a very old dance, Minister. And the painting in the Leaning Lady is a very old painting, by one of our most beloved artists. Ribbon dancing, and memories of the ocean, were carried to Sjona by early refugees, I believe.”
I was about to ask about the ocean—Izruitn was, after all, partly an island city—but Ectar pointed at the grounds. “Ah, now the competition begins?”
The group routine had ended and most of the dancers were leaving the stage. “Yes. There will be pairs, first, then single dancers.”
The pairs did not disappoint. Two extremely acrobatic men threw each other across the stage so lightly they seemed on wing, an adorable young pair of siblings performed some innovative moves with stiff ribbons held between them like ropes, and there were several romantic numbers with much binding and unbinding. One tragic routine between two women had such intense chemistry in their movements apart and together, conveying a desperate, passionate desire to unwrap each other down to their very core, that I felt sure they must have real romantic history. Ectar and Kokush shifted uncomfortably during this routine; in the Empire much of their social culture was bound up with their religion, and they might never have seen women dancing in such a manner before.