Cetlali changed back into the original clothing Athua had picked for her, the outfit she had wanted to wear. The bodice she adorned was sleeveless, and the silvery shirt she'd hidden at the bottom of her trunk was the gorgeous accessory. It was a little frilly looking and cut lower on her neck as to not be confining. Far from being as deep cut as her previous frock, though, that monstrosity made even her paltry bosom look squashed upon a plate.
Buttoned up, the silver shirt stopped beneath her collar bones. It framed them so well. The glittering sheen of silver draped over her skin like a midnight fog over the ocean. She adored it not only because it was so exquisite, but also was the softest thing she'd ever felt.
She never wanted to take it off. Her gauzy and flowing split skirts were a dark slate color, comfortable enough to dance the night away in.
She felt more than ready.
Cetlali inspected her reflection in the tall mirror and thought she looked far prettier and more confident than she did in the bright red eyesore. It's reflection glared in the mirror so she scowled at it. She knew it would need to be cleaned, so the greatest temptation was to leave it in a heap on the floor. Perhaps by accident someone might spill some wine on it. Then, despite their best intentions, trample it in the efforts to save its delicate fabrics. Instead, she left it lying on the bed. Deciding to forget it as soon as she closed the door, she met Xocthl waiting in her solar.
Xocthl walked Cetlali down to the feast. She helped her get a drink on their way through the crowds. Cetlali took her time to bask in her surroundings. She wasn't a stranger to drunken frivolity, but she'd never stayed the entire night for feasts in Anidozja Palace. Not unaccompanied. And never welcomed with a bellow of glee by Masha, already halfway across the room, her arms flung wide open with a beaming smile on her face. Masha embraced Cetlali and Xocthl promised her a dance later
and then slinked off. Athua met them with much more fluid grace than her sister, but did not waste time in dragging them back over to the table.
The Enharouq Clan had gathered with some of their friends and retainers. Sivoy and Zoya sat next to each other. Flushed cheek to flushed cheek, they embraced in the way loving parents do when their children are hellbent on being themselves. A few of Sivoy's guards sat sipping on ale and happy to chuckle with their commander. Athua and Masha secreted themselves in a little corner with snacks and ale.
It was still rather close to the intended Emperor's table in case he was interested in conversing with his future wife. He often wasn't, though. He was rather insipid and standoffish with people around, unless someone could do something for him.
Eraughn was engaged in a heated
discussion with the Financier Elect. It couldn't be good, but Cetlali refused to care for long.
Athua swept her up and onto the dance floor, snatching Masha on the way. They piled out
into the large throng, joining into the wide circles of billowy dancers, spinning, clapping, and stomping to the beats. They turned around one another, cheering, ululating, and singing in tune to the joyous melody. The loud chorus thrummed along with the troupe performing with lutes, drums, and horns. Cetlali hadn't been so joyous or laughed so hard in what felt like a lifetime.
It was easy to slip on and off the dance floor with the table they sat at. Between each song, they would return to their cups and snacks.
They sat out the ones that were too slow or too formal. They cheered the other dancers on, especially when Sivoy took Zoya onto the floor for a more romantic tune. Zoya looked regal as ever, gazing at her husband with unabashed love, but the surprise was in the small, tight, and downright endearing smile playing on Sivoy's lips as he beamed back at her.
"That dress you wore was... impressive,"
Athua said, enigmatic behind her cup. She watched her parents with a soft, genuine smile.
Cetlali rolled her eyes. She sighed, leaning back against the table. "An impressive pain in my ass." Masha guffawed, her sister leveled a glare at her, but she took small dainty sips to weather through it. "How do you manage it, Athua? I swear those stiff frocks are torture devices that mimic being stuffed inside a shrinking sausage."
Athua laughed and shrugged. "I suppose I find a well-fitted dress comforting." She took a gentle sip of her ale and beamed at Cetlali. "It feels like a hug."
"Oh no, she's talking about hugs. She's sloshed now," Masha snickered and sipped again.
"Am not!" Athua giggled, and it took a more focus to achieve that elegant sip. She popped a few hunks of fruit into her mouth. Chewing with a sigh, she watched everyone dither about the hall. "I think I was already drunk when we came down here," her soft mutter sounded bewildered around the fruit in her cheek. She took another swallow from her cup to wash it
all down. A frown popped onto her features as she spoke. "Remind me not to let you two persuade me to drink during the day ever again."
"It was your idea!" Masha insisted with a huff of indignant laughter.
Athua looked down her wide nose at her cup, scrutinizing it and sounding disinterested,
"I do not recall it as such..."
Masha and Cetlali laughed at Athua. She bestowed her sister with a prim smiled before taking another genteel sip. A moment after she put her cup down, Eraughn approached, all smiles for his intended. He may be a bit bland and illtempered, but he was not an outright sadist so far. He must have been tolerable enough for Athua to marry him. She knew better than to tie herself to a sinking ship. He took her to the dance floor and the entire room erupted into hollering, banging cheers and ululations.
Cetlali and Masha covered their ears in shock. They laughed through their strained nerves together, looking around the hall, and witnessing an entire room lit up with glee and pride. Cups raised and drinks sloshed as they raised their arms in a toast. It was a glorious welcome for their future rulers walking out on the dance floor, looking divine in each other's arms.
A young Bruter approached Masha with such some charming bumbling about weapons and then asked her to dance. Cetlali just about shoved a stuttering Masha out of her seat and into those beefy and enormous arms. Cetlali laughed and cheered as Masha's face burnt with excitement and a wide smile split her face. They made an adorable pair. In their rough hewn trousers and comfortable tunics, the two spun around the floor and giggled at each other with the music right on their heels.
A sudden grumbling sounded behind her, and Cetlali looked back. Sivoy Enharouq looked out at his youngest daughter being swept onto the dance floor by the Bruter, who
had feet just as favored by the gods as the rest of her seemed to be. Zoya pat him on the shoulder, whispering something reassuring into his cheek before she kissed him there with tenderness. His ruffled countenance dissipated.
He looked at his wife with a fading scowl and a half grin as he shook his head. Cetlali couldn't help but smile wider.
She turned back to face the dancers.
Shocked, she looked up to see none other than Caran Armistead standing in front of her with his hand outstretched. "Vae Cetlali, you look lovely. Would you join me for a dance?" His smirk was amicable as always, "I seem to recall someone being quite fond of standing on my toes to dance back at Cazar Shcomou."
If there was one person she could dance with when growing up under Ezren's severe distaste for such things, it was Caran. Even back at the Cazar, Ezren recoiled from dancing as if it would ruin him. Caran had always been a capable dancer, just like everything else he did.
Since Rocha saw it as something beneath a
noble woman such as herself, Cetlali became his designated partner.
Cetlali placed her hand in his without hesitation. "I would be honored, Imperator Caran."
"Oh, I do enjoy hearing people say that," he grinned as he pulled her close. They spun out into the crowd with effortless grace, his eyes flashing between her face and their surroundings as he guided her into the beat. "I don't think I'll ever quite get over all the prestige of this place. I thought home was ostentatious..."
Cetlali's sardonic grin peeked out as she clapped and spun like the rest of the group. "If you're not used to it by now, I'm sure it's going to be even more difficult for me."
"Nonsense," Caran patronized her, but with a certain humor. "At least you've got friends in high places," he nodded towards where Eraughn and Athua danced. For the moment, they looked thrilled to be together, and that
was beautiful. "When I arrived, I was virtually friendless. Much more difficult in this lion's den." The distinct tone sounded bitter.
"Oh yes, it must have been so difficult with your sister, the Empress, in residence. Naught but the glory and prestige that seeps out your very pores instead of sweat as an Armistead to fall back on." She returned his condescension, and he gave her a tasteless grin.
"You'd be surprised how little all that pore glory does outside of father's swell of influence.
And, well, you know Rocha..." His pointed reply came through an empty smirk. She could only nod at the sudden shift in his mood. After a moment he continued, "I heard about what happened with Tate."
Cetlali raised an eyebrow. "Am I to be lectured so many times in just one day about him? As if I haven't been surviving his near constant torment for the last decade of my life without all your advice?"
Caran returned that comment with an impatient look. "Who else?"
"Guess." She replied with distinct rancor.
"Well, father, obviously," he glanced around the room, thoughtful as they spun. "I imagine Lovou wasn't pleased. I don't believe even Rocha and Zeger hate each other as much as those two do."
"Hmph, yes, you're right about that. Lovou wasn't very pleased when I spit on Ovar's boot
—,"
"You really did that?" Caran snorted, changing up their pace. With a swift twirl, they faced another direction. They continued dancing with the surrounding crowd, pulsing to the music.
"I did!" She gulped and then laughed a vapid sound. "I didn't think through it at all."
"Well, that is apparent." His sarcastic reply accompanied a good-natured smile. "I'll talk to him," he sounded so curiously official about it.
She was so sure she'd enjoy someone approaching Ovar to address his behavior instead of reprimanding his victims. She just didn't want Caran to be the one to do it. She liked him in one piece. "He'll probably kill you for the insult of trying to tell him what to do,"
Cetlali said, smacking him in the chest as a discouragement.
"He can't kill me, I'm Imperator Elect —,"
"Stab you then..."
"The point is, I'm still his superior.
Technically, I have more power than Koxis Luppi does as captain of the Imperial Guard.
They're appointed to protect the Imperial Clan as their primary focus. I'm charged with protecting the rest of the realm — and that includes you, too," Caran insisted. "If he bothers you again, I wish for you to tell me."
His face had an odd sternness as he gazed down at her, looking older and much more serious than she ever saw him. He'd grown so much since coming to the Citadel. She realized she hadn't been paying proper attention to it.
She met his eyes with difficulty, unnerved for many reasons. Most with the way he still danced with an unquestioned grace, still focusing with such intent on her.
Caran pulled her closer. "His grievances will no longer be born by the legacy of Cazar Shcomou. He is a man of the Imperial Guard, sworn to obey his Emperor and act for the benefit of his realm." His tone was icy and ferocious, a little sliver of Ezren's ruthlessness peeking out. "He will behave according to his status. I am not the same man as my father.
Ovar can outlive his usefulness to me quite quick."
"His Emperor and Empress," Cetlali added the unhelpful correction, stunned by the change in him.
"Cetlali, I'm being serious." Caran sighed.
"Believe me, please. My father favors Ovar because he has a certain amount of utility. Even now on the Imperial Guard, he has not altogether forgotten where he came from. I fear his devotion is twofold." He led them back to the table where she sat earlier with Masha and Athua. Both were already back from their dancing too, flushed as they sipped on ale and laughed. Before Caran let Cetlali go, he nodded at her with meaning. "Promise me you'll tell me."
She frowned, but nodded all the same before making her way back to the table. Masha held out her goblet, full to the brim with ale.
Cetlali laughed, dispelling some of her tension by shaking out her hands before taking it from Masha's grasp like it might explode. She slurped at the edge as she turned to sit next to Masha. The younger girl slouched against Cetlali's shoulder as they chatted about people spinning by them.
Masha nudged Cetlali's shoulder with her cheek. Cetlali looked down at her, and Masha
was nosing in the Emperor's stead's direction.
Cetlali followed her gaze and saw Eraughn sat at the high-table, leaning in close to speak with Rocha. Her hand lingered on his cheek for a moment too long and she gazed at him, her eyes beseeching, wide, and wet. Her face made an almost perfect picture of mournful grace and demurity.
"Why does she hover over him so?" Masha sounded displeased. "She's always pawing at him. It's disconcerting."
"She's always been touchy with people she wants to manipulate," Cetlali murmured and Masha cackled.
"Emperor Vahaugn has been unconscious for so long. Perhaps she's merely grieving her beloved husband's absence." Athua's voice remained calm and measured beside them.
Masha and Cetlali both leveled her with a disbelieving glare at her propriety. She rolled her eyes at them.
"I am to be Empress," Athua's tone was a haughty as she continued looking down her nose at them. "I must be... diplomatic," she sewed the genteel word through grit teeth.
Athua was not jealous in the least. She was just wise to distrust certain parties involved. She cooled and gave a small secretive smile.
Looking back to Cetlali and Masha with a wink, she whispered, "There isn't a need to fret, he thinks of her as his dour, air headed step mother."
Masha groaned. "Gods, she's not that old!
Hardly a wrinkle or a fault until you sway in like you're stepping on clouds and star shine. Then her face pinches up like a weasel, but it's not like anyone sees it cause they're too busy looking at you."
Athua covered her mouth, bubbling with laughter. She tried to seem more appropriately appalled. "Masha, you cannot speak in such a way! What if someone heard you?"
"They'd agree..." Cetlali mumbled behind her cup of ale. Athua heard her and shot her a scathing look, just short of sisterly.
"Cetlali! Don't encourage her!" Athua huffed out, driven half-breathless, restraining a smile.
"What am I to do with you two?"
"Nothing!" Masha insisted. "Cetlali's an adult and I'm almost one. You stay busy dousing the Empire in all that benevolent communal living shite you love. Just don't forget to make me some Imperial niblings!"
"Masha!" Athua guffawed, her skin growing heated at her chest and cheeks. "Stop asking me for children! I can't even begin to contemplate parenthood before we're married. Plus, the glaring factor that we have an entire Empire to run. So stop it!" She hissed out the teasing reprimand.
Undeterred, Masha grinned with the way her sister's cheeks perked up at the talk. The one thing Athua had always wanted was children. She could marry an Emperor or a
tanner or no one, but children had always been something she dreamed of. Masha loved to tease her sister about the things that made her happy. Especially if she could get something out of it, like an adorable baby to spoil as the eventual payoff.