The Sovereign had outlived four wives. With loving care, the man's latest wife dabbed at the food on his chin. Dalton doubted she was yet out of her teens.

Thankfully, even though the sons and daughters brought their spouses, they had left their children home; the Sovereign's grandchildren were insufferable brats. No one dared do anything more than chuckle approvingly at the little darlings as they rampaged unchecked. Several of them were considerably older than their latest stepgrandmother.

On the other side of the Minister from Dalton, Lady Hildemara Chanboor, in an elegant silvery pleated gown cut as low as any in the room, gestured with one finger, and the harpist, stationed before but below the head table's raised platform, gently trailed her soft music to silence. The Minister's wife directed the feast.

It actually needed no directing from her, but she insisted she be acknowledged as the regal hostess of the majestic and stately event, and therefore from time to time contributed to the proceedings by lifting her finger to silence the harpist at the appropriate time so that all might know and respect her social position. People were spellbound, believing the entire feast turned on Lady Chanboor's finger.

The harpist certainly knew when she was to let her music end for an impending slated event, but nonetheless waited and watched for that noble finger before daring to still her own. Sweat dotted her brow as she watched for Lady Chanboor's finger to rise, daring not to miss it.

Though universally proclaimed radiant and beautiful, Hildemara was rather thick of limb and feature, and had always put Dalton in mind of a sculpture of a woman chiseled by an artisan of greater ardor than talent. It was not a piece of work one wished to consider for long stretches.

The harpist took the chance of the break to reach for a cup on the floor beside her golden harp. As she bent forward for the cup, the Minister ogled her cleavage, at the same time giving Dalton an elbow in the ribs lest he miss the sight.

Lady Chanboor noticed her husband's roving eye, but showed no reaction. She never did. She relished the power she wielded, and willingly paid the requisite price.

In private, though, Hildemara occasionally clouted Bertrand with any handy object, more likely for a social slight to her than a marital indiscretion. She had no real cause to raise objections to his philandering; she was not exactly faithful, enjoying at times the discreet company of lovers. Dalton kept a mental list of their names.

Dalton suspected that, like many of her husband's dalliances, her partners were attracted to her power, and hoped they might earn a favor. Most people had no clue as to what went on at the estate, and could imagine her as nothing other than a faithful loving wife, an image she cultivated with care. The Anderith people loved her as the people of other lands loved a queen.

In many ways, she was the power behind the office of Minister; she was adept, knowledgeable, focused. While Bertrand was often at play, Hildemara, behind closed doors, issued orders. He relied on his wife's expertise, often deferring to her in material matters, disinterested in what patronage she doled out to miscreants, or the cultural carnage she left in her wake.

No matter what she might think of her husband in private, Hildemara worked zealously to preserve his dominion. If he fell, she would surely crash down with him. Unlike her husband, Hildemara was rarely drunk and discreetly confined whatever couplings she had to the middle of the night Dalton knew better than to underestimate her. She tended cobwebs of her own.

The company gasped with delighted surprise when a «sailor» sprang from behind the marzipan ship, piping a merry fisher's tune on his fife while accompanying himself on a tabor hung from his belt. Teresa giggled and clapped, as did many others.

She squeezed her husband's leg under the table. "Oh, Dalton, did you ever think we would live at such a splendid place, come to know such splendid people, and see such splendid things?"

"Of course."

She giggled again and gently bumped his shoulder with hers. Dalton watched Claudine applaud from a table to the right. To his left Stein stabbed-a chunk of meat and with shameless manners pulled it from the knife with his teeth. He chewed with his mouth open as he viewed the entertainment. This didn't look to be the sort of entertainment Stein favored.

Servers had already begun carrying in silver chargers of the fish course, taking them to the dresser table for saucing and dressing before service. The Sovereign had his own servants at a sideboard to taste and prepare his food. They used knives they had brought with them to slice off for the Sovereign and his family the choice upper crust of rolls and breads. They had other knives just to prepare the trenchers upon which the Sovereign's food was placed, which, unlike everyone else's plates, were changed after each course. They had one knife to slice, one to trim, and one just to smooth the trenchers.

The Minister leaned close, his fingers holding a slice of pork he had dipped in mustard. "I heard a rumor that there is a woman who might be inclined to spread unpleasant lies. Perhaps you should inquire after the matter."

From the platter he shared with Teresa, Dalton plucked up with his second finger and thumb a slice of pear in almond milk. "Yes, Minister, I already have. She intends no disrespect." He popped the pear in his mouth.

The Minister lifted an eyebrow. "Well and good, then."

He grinned and winked past Dalton. Smiling, Teresa bowed her head in acknowledgment of his greeting.

"Ah, my dear Teresa, have I yet told you that you look especially divine this evening. And your hair is wondrous- it makes you look as if you are a good spirit come to grace my table. If you weren't married to my right-hand man, I'd invite you to a dance, later."

The Minister rarely danced with anyone but his wife and, as a matter of protocol, visiting dignitaries.

"Minister, I would be honored," Teresa said, stumbling over the words, "as would my husband-I'm sure. I could be in no better hands on the dance floor-or anywhere."

Despite Teresa's usual ability to maintain a state of social equanimity, she blushed at the high honor Bertrand had almost extended. She fussed with the glittering sequins tied in her hair, aware of envious eyes watching her speak with the Minister of Culture himself.

Dalton knew by the scowl behind the Minister that there was no need to fret that such a dance-with the man doubtlessly pressing up against Teresa's half-exposed bosom- would take place. Lady Chanboor would not have Bertrand formally showing such a lack of complete devotion to her.

Dalton returned to business, steering the conversation in the direction of his intentions. "One of the officials from the city is very concerned about the situation we spoke of."

"What did he say?" Bertrand knew which Director they were discussing and wisely refrained from using names aloud, but his eyes flashed anger.

"Nothing," Dalton assured him. "But the man is persistent. He might inquire after matters-press for explanations. There are those who conspire against us, and would be eager to stir the cry of impropriety. It would be a bothersome waste of time and take us away from our duty to the Anderith people, were we forced to acquit ourselves of groundless accusations of misconduct."

"The whole idea is absurd," the Minister said, as he followed in the form of their cover conversation. "You don't really believe, do you, that people really plot to oppose our good works?"

His words sounded by rote, he used them so often. Simple prudence required that public discussion be circumspect. There might be gifted people slipped in among the guests, hoping to use their skill to overhear something not meant to be heard.