Chapter 19: 19 - New Year's Ball

The black suit was a conservative but expensive one with vague hints of blue in the sheen of his white satin shirt. Spahen checked the tuck of that shirt one last time and ran his fingers through his styled hair to encourage a more “effortless” look before exiting his guestroom. The New Year’s Ball had been anticipated with much enthusiasm among the Trebax clique, of which he had become a solid member through the last month. Trebax especially seemed to enjoy soliciting his company, and Spahen made it a point to encourage that solicitation.

“Spahen!” Trebax greeted him in the hallway near the throne room as promised wearing his own black and white suit accented with gold buttons. “Careful, man! Looking that smart, you’ll have all the ladies swooning. I hope you’re prepared to catch them,” he teased.

Spahen chuckled good-naturedly and returned the compliment. “You will have too many of your own affected maidens to worry about to concern yourself with me. This way to the ballroom?” Spahen asked rhetorically as the hallways had been lined with elaborate garlands and palace guards to indicate the right direction. The pair of councilmen fell into step, following the smattering of fellow guests through the halls while exchanging the usual pleasantries.

The ballroom was… otherworldly. There simply wasn’t another way to describe it. With the theme “black and white”, the three interior walls and towering, vaulted ceilings had somehow been densely blanketed with gauzy cloth banners and more fabric garlands strung with polished beads and dancing crystals. The achieved texture and topography was as bizarre as it was beautiful, and the effect was both ethereal and formal. Gothic, crystal chandeliers plunged through the sea of fabric above, casting a low, shimmering glow throughout the room.

The fourth wall was essentially a full wall of windows, but the ceiling dripped enough monochromatic textiles of varying lengths and textures to keep the wall in theme while preserving the impressive display of architecture. One corner of the glass wall housed a high, built-in, grand platform from where, presumably, the king would address the party when most of the guests arrived.

To maximize the space for dancing, the floor itself was left uncluttered by decor except along the walls where voluminous, black-and-white floral arrangements sat upon high, columned stands spaced evenly apart between the professionally attentive palace guards and tables burdened equally with elaborate refreshments and rich accoutrements.

Finally, a full orchestra was playing somewhere, and it took a while for Spahen to locate the musicians on a stage that was largely obscured by the decorations he’d thought were covering a wall. Getting closer to the stage, he realized that the decorations here were actually a lacy black curtain that allowed the music to engulf the ballroom while hiding its source.

The splendor was all-consuming as Spahen wandered distractedly behind Trebax with his eyes continuously scanning the walls and ceiling. He finally tore his eyes away when Trebax started laughing, and Spahen realized that he was laughing at him.

“Sorry, I missed something,” he frowned.

“I asked, ‘what do you think of the view, Councilman Spahen?’” Trebax repeated through a delighted smirk.

“Oh. It’s… I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It’s stunning,” he replied, not trying to hide his sense of awe.

“Do they not have balls like this in the Bear Tribe?”

“Balls? Yes. Like this? Nothing like this. Our balls are not nearly so opulent, and they usually take place outside during the summer.”

Trebax chuckled again. “That sounds more like a village dance than a palace ball!”

“Well, we don’t exactly have a proper palace.”

“Ah, yes. I forget. You explained it before. Your Leader’s Lodge is more like a community than a palace.”

“It’s nothing like a palace,” Spahen corrected him with a laugh of his own.

“Well, come! Let me introduce you to some people, namely some young ladies. You know how to dance, don’t you?”

“Well enough.”

Spahen followed Trebax through the crowd, his focus shifting from the magnificence of the hall to the extravagance of its occupants. Every article of clothing was a work of art, every piece of jewelry expensive and masterfully crafted. The hair styles and makeup were elaborate and dramatic, and even the perfumes were obviously of the finest quality. He felt underdressed in his simple but well tailored suit by comparison. Oh, well. He would still enjoy observing the fashions everyone else had chosen.

“Councilman Gemma!”

“Councilman Trebax, Councilman Spahen.” Upon hearing his name, Spahen quickly turned to acknowledge the party in front of him: a circle including Gemma, an older woman on his arm, a thirty-something man looking about the room disinterestedly, and an exceptionally pretty young woman with bright eyes and a positively captivating smile. “May I introduce you to my wife and children, Councilman?” Gemma began the introductions, and Spahen tore his eyes away from the siren’s smile. “This is Gratia,” Gemma said while indicating the woman on his arm; Spahen made the appropriate bow. “And this is my son, Elatus, and my daughter, Flava.” Again, Spahen bowed, and while Elatus barely tipped his head in return, Flava’s already dazzling smile broadened with a light giggle as she extended her hand out for him to take — or kiss if the fancy struck him. He opted to simply accept her hand with yet another small bow.

“So you’re the Councilman Spahen from the Bear Tribe that my father has told me so much about,” Flava effectively skipped the need for further introductions. “My father tells me that you are gifted at reading people. Is it true?”

“I… suppose?” Spahen floundered, not really sure how to answer her.

“Read me,” she immediately demanded, a coy smile pursing her lips expectantly as her hips swayed lazily from side to side for his benefit.

“Uh….” This was a terrible moment for his mind to go blank. He forced himself to focus, taking in her attire (rich but relatively simply dressed and undeniably pleasing), her posture (seductive but relaxed despite his eyes raking her up and down), and her face (intelligent, eagerly awaiting his analysis through a determinedly flirtatious expression).

“Well?”

Spahen exhaled and smirked, relaxing into the well-practiced role of people analyst. “You are uncommonly pretty, and you know it. That knowledge serves as both your sword and your shield — that is, you use it to quickly gain the upper hand in social settings while also hiding your intelligence behind it. Which is a shame, if you ask me. I rather prefer a smart woman over a pretty one.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Spahen held Flava’s gaze as her eyes widened in apparent shock, and Councilman Gemma guffawed loudly. “You do not disappoint, Spahen,” he declared, reaching across the circle to cuff Spahen’s shoulder and break his continued eye contact with Flava. “Come! Let’s get a drink together.”

Obediently, Spahen followed the councilman to the nearest refreshment table where a servant was pouring wine upon request. Drinks in hand, Gemma began a slow shuffle about the room.

“So, Spahen,” he began, “we haven’t properly sniffed each other yet.”

Spahen quirked a brow at the turn of phrase. “To what end?”

“Well, naturally, I make it a habit of getting to know the young men that catch my daughter’s eye!”

Spahen frowned at this explanation. It’s not that there was anything wrong with it, exactly. It was more that it felt forced. It felt manipulative. “That would be impressive considering that we barely met just three minutes ago.”

“Oh, believe me, that’s long enough.” Gemma took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving Spahen’s over the rim of the glass, and again, something about this conversation felt off.

“Councilman, is there something specific that you would like to ‘sniff out’ about me?”

Gemma’s brow pinched, as did his lips; his hand, cupping his glass, began to mindlessly twirl the wine around. “As you wish. Who are you?”

The abrupt, suspicious question caught him off guard, and Spahen resorted to his usual, masking social laugh. “I’m not sure that I understand the question.”

“It’s simple enough,” Gemma pressed lightly. “Who are you? And why are you here, in the Lion Tribe?”

“Ah,” Spahen exclaimed softly. “Well, as you know, my name is Brennen Spahen. I come from a long line of elders in the Bear Tribe Council of–”

“Yes, I know,” Gemma cut him off. “But why are you here?”

“His Majesty requested the exchange. I’m here on temporary assignment on a mission to strengthen diplomatic ties between the Lion and Bear Tribes by participating in His Majesty’s council, thereby enhancing understanding between our tribes.”

“Yes, that is all lovely propaganda,” Gemma said shortly. “But why did they send you, Brennen Spahen, to fill that assignment?”

“Well, the short answer is that I was young enough to make the trip easily, and I was not specifically needed in the Council of Elders because my grandfather is still occupying the seat I’m being groomed to fill.”

“And the choice had nothing to do with your more colorful resume?” Gemma challenged.

“What do you mean?” Spahen frowned again.

“You were an officer in the Bear Tribe military before you began your service in the Council of Elders.”

His eyes widened (slightly). “You’ve been checking up on me?”

“... under the direct command of General Germanus Animo.”

Spahen’s stomach did a small, nauseating backflip. “I’m sure you have a point in there somewhere.”

“Did you know that General Yudha’s maiden name is Animo?” Gemma asked, possibly rhetorically, and Spahen feigned surprise.

“I guess… now that you mention it, I think I did know that at one point. Are the two Animo’s related?”

“Siblings,” Gemma’s eyes continued to bore into his.

“Huh. Well, what do you know! The military prowess is genetic.”

“Yes….” The suspicion was still lingering in his voice and narrowed eyes, but Gemma’s posture relaxed marginally. “What was your relationship with General Animo?”

“Oh…” Spahen puffed and casually scratched his head, glancing off to the side. “I mean, he was my commanding officer, so the person I took orders from. Well, for a while… until he got captured by the Resistance. He didn’t last terribly long as the Bear General.”

“You didn’t get to know him more personally?”

“Uh, I mean, we chatted once or twice. It was his job to keep tabs on the senior officers under his command, but he was a busy man — a good general though. Why do you ask?”

Gemma was nodding slowly, the wheels turning in his head as he processed and carefully analyzed Spahen’s answer. “Did you know General Yudha before coming here?”

Spahen’s brain jumped into high gear. How much did Gemma already know? If Gemma caught him in a lie, his cover would be blown, and everything he’d worked towards for this investigation would go up in smoke just like that. But admitting to knowing Beta would be an instant cover-killer too. He’d have to lie and pray that Gemma was stabbing in the dark.

“Councilman?” Gemma prodded.

“I’m trying to think if maybe I met her before,” Spahen eventually answered with a frown of concentration. “I might have met her; it would have been years ago. But did I know her? No.”

“I see. And, as a former military officer, what do you think of General Yudha?”

“If she’s anything like her brother, she would be a formidable opponent on a battlefield. Regrettably, I think that’s where her greatest talents lie… and would best remain.”

Gemma chuckled lowly and clapped Spahen on the back, all tension in Gemma's mannerisms dissipating immediately and almost alarmingly. Gemma nudged him into forward motion back to where Trebax was trying very hard to flirt with Flava to limited success. Spahen, feeling cautiously relieved, glanced around, unexpectedly meeting gaze with a familiar face. Ablenkung looked… different in a formal suit, really quite striking actually, and he seemed to need to talk. Spahen watched as Ablenkung very intentionally moved toward a set of doors in the short wall of the ballroom opposite the stage and orchestra — presumably towards the restrooms which gave Spahen an excuse to step out.

“Would you excuse me, Councilman?”

“Is something wrong?” Gemma queried.

“I, uh, am finding myself in need of the facilities. Will you be with your family when I return?”

“Most likely,” Gemma confirmed. “Hurry back, Spahen. There is someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

“Oh? Consider me incentivized to return shortly.”

With that, Spahen bowed out, wending his way through the crowd. Someone cleared their throat the moment he’d walked through the doors, and Ablenkung began a casual stroll back into the noisy ballroom. Spahen followed a moment later to the nearest table of refreshments; Shield was already contemplating the hors d'oeuvres.

“Queens’ maids,” Shield declared the topic quietly with his head down, the background noise making him audible only to Spahen who was contemplating a near flower arrangement. “They serve both queens.”

Spahen frowned. That was already known information. He glanced at his comrade just long enough to read the silent shift in topic in his familiar blue eyes. “Ah. ‘She’?”

“Can’t get close enough,” Ablenkung muttered bitterly, selecting some sort of savory pastry and a napkin, an indication that he’d said his piece. In other words, his hunch remained just that after nearly a month of investigative efforts.

“I’ll try.” Spahen sighed, understanding the handoff without any idea yet on what to do with it, and he too collected a napkin. “I was just confronted about my background.” Next to him, Ablenkung stiffened.

“You’ve been burned!?”

“Not yet, but they were close.”

Shield nodded and popped his pastry into his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully before swallowing and straightening. “These pastries are delicious,” he said to no one in particular.

“Mn,” Spahen hummed, acknowledging the backup support with a small smile twitching his lips: Shield would be stationed near this table if Spahen needed him. He collected a pastry for himself and returned to his circle just in time to watch a rather austere, older woman part a bowing crowd on her way to the corner platform where the Lion King was already seated. The orchestra quieted and people stilled, and the king, seated on the platform already, stood up to give a brief opening address that Spahen didn’t pay any attention to. He was too busy studying the woman now sitting behind the king. She was cold, her head held very high — aloof seemed a fitting descriptor — and she was an especially beautiful woman, slender and graceful, in spite of her age. The orchestra resumed the music once the king had said his piece, and the crowd grew loud again.