Alaire didn't like the sound of the phrase "down there" one bit. She led him to a section of tables almost a story and a half below the King's. Naitachal continued to the head table without him. Oh well, he thought. So be it. Perhaps I can learn something useful down there.
Those of the lowest social order ate here, he soon learned. Even Paavo sat a tier above him. The head servant sneered down at Alaire as he took his seat, a miserable little stool at a bare wooden table.
Bad manners at the dinner table are ill-adv Alaire seethed inwardly. Particularly when everyone has knives.
Alaire found himself at a table lined with Suinomen natives who evidently did not speak his language, although some of the servants bringing food to the table did. Alaire appraised their clothing with a knowing eye, and guessed that these folk were the servants or secretaries of those above. Except for one thing; every one of them had a cape or cloak of fur. The dining hall was a bit drafty, but didn't warrant the use of furs he saw around him, and he wondered if there was something no one had told them about There always is.
He saw a flock of young girls at the tables two levels up. None of them were particularly attractive, at least by his standards, and some he even cringed at. They watched his table eagerly. He glanced up, far up, where Naitachal was sitting, and saw right away that the Dark Elf was too far to offer advice or distraction.
Some of the young women were discreet, but oth- ers stared openly at him. Alaire was afraid to return the looks, at least too directly. Even flirting could be dangerous. They can't know I'm a prince, he thought frantically. I hope Naitachal is covering my tracks up there. I wouldn't want to become part of a deal. Now it wasn't only the girls near him who watched him from under their long, coquettish eyelashes. Some of the girls sat at the topmost table, with his Master an King. They must be his daughters. If they find ou I really am, I could become some sort of bargaining chip! Aaaargh!
Halfway through the meal Alaire noticed an empty wooden cup near his plate. Occasionally a servant would come by and drop a single flower petal into the vessel, and when he looked inside it was half full. The petals had something -- names? -- written delicately on them in an odd script. He shuddered, considering the possible meanings and ramifications.
Could these petals be a trysting invitation? He guessed about thirty petals were in there now, and they were still coming. Gods! There wouldn't be any- thing left! he thought in horror. He took extra care not to touch the cup after that. Better to be cold and dis- tant than get into something there would be no getting out of!
Besides the petals, the situation was hardly com- fortable. Paavo had claimed they were the guests of honor, but he was eating with the kitchen help. The food was terrible, since the meat was unidentifiable, and nearly raw, the bread burned or still doughy, and the rest all seemed to consist of variations on dried peas and beans cooked in fish-oil.
He was here to observe, so he did his best to ignore the food and the girls and keep his eyes open. He noticed surreptitious glimpses towards Naitachal from the greater nobles, some even overtly hostile, and he wondered if this was because of his Dark Elven heri- tage or if it was because he represented a co Suinomen had chosen to make into an enemy.
Could be a little of both, he thought. At the first few mouthfuls of mystery-meat, his hunger had overcome his aversion. Now the edge was off his appetite, and he wished the evening could just end.
Despite Naitachal's dark presence at the board of honor, the meal became festive, with idle chatter in both languages flowing from table to table. A servant offered Alaire wine, but he politely refused, knowing that even a little bit in his exhausted state would lay him out on the floor. He seldom drank anyway.
As the meal ended, a six-piece consort struck up some dance music. Evidently there was no prohibition here against couples dancing, and a few of the more bold or boisterous joined in a lively gigue in a section of floor cleared away by the servants. Alaire took this chance to try to get back to Naitachal.
He encountered a barrier of noblemen and their assistants; apparently, during dinner, word had circu- lated that it might be wise to cultivate Ambas Naitachal's acquaintance. From what little Alaire saw, the nobles showed him at least the respect his office deserved. However, they kept a certain uneasy dis- tance from his Master, who remained a solitary black figure ringed by a moat of stark wooden floors, bridged only by the briefest bow and a few hurried words.
Later, I'll talk to him, Alaire thought. He seems to be doing fine, given the circumstances. I would only attract attention if I made a point of joining him.
He backed away from the impromptu receiving line, looking for something to do. He felt completely useless. But then, that was the idea.
At another table sat several apparently available young ladies (not of highborn, but of some other ranked or wealthy class). A young man, a teenager really, stood in front of the table, telling an animated tale of some sort, gesturing wildly with his arms in wide sweeping motions. The boy's striking attire im- pressed Alaire more than his demeanor did His white and red cloak, embroidered with gold thread, hung to the side. He wore the most unusual gold hos Prince had ever seen. Despite the finery, however, he looked like an unmade bed. Half his shirt hung out over his hose, and his white scarf looked ready to fall off. As he drew closer, he saw why; the boy was drunk out of his mind.
Alaire thought the boy was telling the women a humorous story in the native language. Perhaps he's some kind of well-born court jester, Alaire thought.
But as he continued to watch, it became obvious that, despite the young man's brave (and intoxicated) at- tempts at gallantry, the women were laughing at him.
He was obviously the son of one of the nobles meeting with Naitachal, given his dress, and he'd had far too much to drink.
Alaire's heart went out to the stranger, as he knew too well the stresses a royal court could put on young men and women. He's of the age when parents start pairing their children off, whether or not they even know each other, he thought, reminding himself that his father had given him more choices than most noble children. It could even be that the poor young- ster had just been informed of his impending nuptials ... and that the bride made one of the dieren look like a better mate.
Better save this lad before he makes a complete fool of himself, he decided, though he knew it was prob- ably too late. Or at least, before he offends someone.
Alaire wasn't even sure the young man spok Althean language; he approached his target with some trepidation, and took him by the elbow to lead him off in what he hoped was a friendly manner. He half expected the stranger to swing around and hit him, or at least try to escape his "rescuer." Yet in the general confusion, with people of all castes milling around, and music increasing in volume, he led the young man away from the table without arousing his suspicion, or, apparently, his attention.
Alaire took him to a balcony that looked over the courtyard below. No one else was out there in the cold, and Alaire shivered in a wind which bit sharply at his bare skin.
The young man started to shiver a little as well, as he looked about in a land of daze, as if he could not imagine how the table full of young women had turned into a balcony. Good. Maybe this will sober him up a little. Alaire gently turned him, so lanterns burn- ing on either side of the balcony illuminated his face.