When The Petal Fell

8-1

8

Today was not a day to blend in, nor was it a day to appear in any kind of distress. Cierene entered the Great Hall of the Palace of Words and brought a hush to the assembled dignitaries, nobles and noted individuals. Even the servants paused upon seeing her enter. This, of course, pleased her no end. This day they would talk about her and not the High Gardener. Although a few would not have their heads turned by her stunning appearance, most would.

She paused at the high, double doors and allowed the whispers to move like a wave around the large room. Wearing a canary yellow, silk, off-the-shoulder gown, the train whispering along the floor in her wake, the tight fit accentuating every curve of her tall body. The scarlet satin corset, worn on the outside of the dress, and the sash, accompanying the dress and corset, had the desired effect. Her vibrant red hair, styled in a high dome, each strand set in place in painstaking precision added to her height and her shoes, with tall heels and thin straps curling around her feet, added even more.

Tall, at the best of times, now Cierene towered above almost everyone in the room. And to finish the ensemble, her make-up consisted of fresh, striking reds upon her lips and surrounding her eyes and an intricate pattern, in black, etched on both cheeks, highlighted her cheekbones and continued down, along her long neck and spreading out across her shoulders, giving the impression of a tree and its roots.

She was a vision of beauty and she knew it. As did everyone else.

She accepted a thin glass of wine and held it with both hands as she looked through the crowd. She knew almost all of the guests, here to observe the swearing in of Lord Avksa and the celebration afterwards. Some were even intimate clients, others mere clients of her talents in entertainment. She nodded and smiled, holding the Veil of Wistful Peace, at everyone's glance and bow.

Navigating the crowd, she listened to the musicians, set in the corner of the room, playing inoffensive tunes that almost always seemed to play at events like these. They seemed talented enough, though not exceptional. Cierene noted one young man, playing the lute in vigorous fashion. He had passion, for certain, but lacked in ability.

"My Lady Cierene! May I say, you are a delight to the eyes!" Lord Avksa, himself, had pushed through several groupings of guests to reach her. Cierene had once entertained him and his family for his birthday, making tea and conversation and playing her harp. He seemed a genuine, good man. "My husband talks about our night together to this very day. I believe he holds a little part of his heart only for you."

"Your husband will always be a part of mine, Lord Avksa." She switched to the Veil of Sweet Secrets, only for his eyes, and then returned to the Veil of Wistful Peace. A little token for the new President. "Is he here? I simply must hear his sweet laugh once more."

"Alas, no." Lord Avksa's face lost a little of the smile and sighed. "He is abed. Laid up with the most terrible flu. But, when I return home, I shall tell him you asked of him. Ah! Please excuse me, my Lady, I must continue touching palms. I hear it's the worst part of the job."

Cierene curtseyed, bowing her head as Lord Avksa melted back into the crowd. Meeting other people would, indeed, be the worst part of his job. Lord Rifnarus, of course, would perform most, if not all, of the important duties, leaving the President to give the impression of ruling.

"It's as if he almost believes he will have any power at all, isn't it? Poor man." Ascendent Dūr, his hands clasped within his robes, watched Avksa shake hands and grin at another group of guests. "Why Rifnarus allows the charade to continue is beyond me. Better Avksa and Harrehal give up the pretence. We all know who truly rules."

"Sometimes, the illusion of freedom appears more sweet than the reality." Dūr nodded. He seemed to be wearing even thicker robes than before, and a tight hood covered all but a small portion of his face. Cierene almost felt sorry for the man. "I'm surprised you are here, Ascendent. The chances of touching someone must be great, in this gathering. It must be difficult for you."