I carried Luce into the Bergmarkian Embassy in a canvas sack. The ball was a formal
affair, so foot-wrappings were not appropriate. Instead, I had bound Luce’s wrists and
ankles, removed the cheap slave-bells, and left her barefoot.
Ahead of me, Belzac carried his Orane in a similar sack, disdaining the assistance
of the embassy’s arbi. It helped that Orane was petite, although Belzac had more strength
than one might guess from his age and lack of height. Behind us, Belzac’s arbi pulled his
oversized rickshaw away.
During the short trip to the Embassy the two slavegirls had lain side-by-side, with
only their heads exposed, chatting with each other. Belzac and I had sat next to them
silently watching the traffic. Draft animals aren’t permitted in the city of Renes, and in
any case the world of Trion doesn’t have horses (or any other riding animal, for that
matter). Outside of Renes, Cernians use vosk as draft, milk, and meat animals.
I had yet to encounter a vosk, except as dinner, but I understood that they were
vaguely cow-like or buffalo-like creatures with a fair bit of goat in the mix. The females
and gelded males are docile enough when pulling carts, and even when used as pack animals,
but they object strenuously to being ridden. And as I’ve said, they’re not permitted in
the city. So in Renes people walked or rode in arbi-carried sedan chairs or arbi-pulled
rickshaws.
As I carried Luce into the entrance hall, I felt her squirm with memory, and my
Master’s ear heard her recognition of the place. I felt it too. We had been in the
Bergmark embassy only once before, just after I had rescued her from the Ysbene. The Black
Druid had contrived to recapture her, with Ysbene aid, and she had come within an ace of
being branded. Or rather, she had been branded, but I had fortunately saved her before any
fire poison could be rubbed into the burn.
An embassy arbi led us through a set of double doors and into an area carpeted in
red and yellow – the Kingdom of Bergmark’s colors. In an alcove set off from the main
hall, Belzac exchanged his boots for formal guest-slippers and removed Orane from her
sack. He freed her ankles and set her barefoot on the carpet, leaving her arms bound. I
did likewise with Luce. The Bergmarkian aide stationed there looked us over to ensure that
we met the standards, and nodded approval. Orane gave him a grave look of acknowledgement,
and then, unexpectedly, a haughty toss of her head. A moment later, Luce followed suit.
The aide’s lips twitched as he turned to announce us to the party already gathered in the
hall.
This hall had only a few dozen candles burning, but it was even more lavishly
equipped with mirrors and chandeliers than Belzac’s hôtel. The alchemically enhanced glass
took the light and multiplied it by a thousandfold or more to produce an especially bright
and ostentatious display. Luce and I both blinked.
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