23: The Gift (Part II)
"She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes..."
~ Lord Byron
Vivienne's small party had arrived late, no thanks to the Chantry's antiquated carriage, and missed all the introductions. As they slipped into the room, where the festivities were unfolding, she spotted him, dapperly dressed as always. He appeared to be in a jovial mood until he spied her descending the staircase. His eyes lit up for a second and then dulled; he somberly directed his attention back to his group and did not seek her out.
It was a breach in their ritual, in their dance, and she felt at a loss.
Perhaps he had grown bored?
It did not make any sense, though, and she wracked her brain to identify a moment, an exchange that would have given her a clue, an indication, of that most unexpected behavior.
And she realized she was a sore loser when it came to the Game.
No longer able to sustain an impassive face as he ignored her so blatantly, she discreetly removed herself onto a large terrace down a quiet hallway overlooking the sculpted gardens below. The stars shimmered indifferently above, an echo of the night unfurling with no promise.
Vivienne startled when she sensed movement behind her and turned eagerly, half expecting, half hoping the Duke to have followed her. Instead, she found a woman reclining on one of the terrace's settees.
Vivienne had seen and met many influential women in the Chantry, the Circle, and the Orlesian Court. She had admired some, perhaps envied a few, but ultimately did not think they had much more on her.
The woman she saw, sprawling languidly as she admired the mild evening, slowly fanning herself, was perhaps the most intriguing woman she had ever seen. She evinced an effortless, regal air. Upon closer examination, Vivienne was able to tell she was a mature woman, slender and beautifully dressed. The eyes peering back at her in the half lights of the torches were large and dark, long lashed and piercing.
"Seeking shelter from the heat?" she asked in a friendly manner.
Vivienne knew better; everything uttered could be interpreted as double speak.
"Indeed. It was getting quite…stuffy…in there," she said, peeved.
The woman laughed brightly and bid her to sit with her.
"What is your name, darling?" the woman asked.
Vivienne's eyes noticed her delicate, manicured hands, a pearl bracelet with rubies adorning her pale wrist. An impressively large ruby ring encrusted with glimmering diamonds rested on the indicator of one hand and a golden wedding band circled the ring finger of the other.
"Vivienne," she stated, elusively. "And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
"Isadora," the woman smiled enigmatically. "I have heard much about you," she continued, and Vivienne had the impression she was undergoing a great inspection at that moment. "You are the mage the Chantry likes to parade about, are you not?"
"I see my reputation precedes me," she said, concealing her alarm.
"As reputations should. No one likes unannounced visitors. I have been told you are quite gifted…" Isadora continued, encouragingly. "That someday, perhaps, you may be a force to be reckoned with."
"A force to be reckoned with is very much something a mage strives to avoid," Vivienne stated cautiously.
The woman grinned.
"I meant no harm, darling," she said with disarming congeniality. "But a mage is just a facet of who you are, isn't it?" Her voice was smooth, velvety.
Vivienne remained on her guard. The woman's eyes swept over her attire.
"I like how you dress. You most definitely aren't frumpy and dowdy like the other mages allowed to step out of the Circle, thank goodness!" She raised a goblet to her painted red lips. "Tell me…How else are you different from other mages?"
They began a tentative conversation, during which Vivienne examined the woman carefully as well. It wasn't just the luxurious finery the woman was bedecked in—it was her poise, her natural charm, making every gesture so beguiling and natural. They soon engaged in a lively conversation for most of the evening, engrossed in each other, laughing, topping each other's goblets of wine, exchanging observations and impressions, discovering mutual interests, and a shared sensibility. She had gleaned that the woman was well-born, of an old, established Orlesian noble family, from the way she carried herself and spoke. Despite her pampered ways, she had a keen mind, interesting opinions, and a cutting wit. For once Vivienne realized she was truly entertained, listening rather than just nodding politely and calculating every gesture, bidding her time to escape. It was an unexpected solace she had not even realized she would like to indulge. She found herself doing something terribly forbidden, extremely damning to any aspiring player of the Game:
She found herself being sincere.
Their delightful tête-à-tête was interrupted by none other than the Duke himself. He had been searching for her and when he burst onto the balcony, he had spotted her before noticing her lovely companion.
"Vivienne, you all but disappeared," he said with reserved aplomb. "I was wondering—"
And then he halted, as if struck, his face stilling in an inscrutable expression.
"Isadora," he acknowledged respectfully.
"Bastien," she returned the formal greeting.
"I shall leave you to your conversation. Forgive me," he said hurriedly, backing out of the terrace.
How interesting, Vivienne observed, narrowing her eyes. He'd become completely discomfited. Isadora watched her, undisguised amusement in her expression.
"It appears the Duke has taken a keen interest in you," she said.
"The entire court seems to find me interesting, it appears. From the color of my skin to the—"
"Nonsense," Isadora interrupted, sitting up at last, her up do delicately pinpointed with tiny crystals catching the light as if they were diminutive stars in her lustrous black hair. "After all, beauty is skin deep…"
"So is guile," Vivienne stated shrewdly.
The woman balked for a moment, and Vivienne steeled herself for the unavoidable confrontation. Such verbal sparring was more familiar and comfortable to her.
"I know him quite well," Isadora said softly, her eyes at the doorway, distant. "And I can see he is quite taken with you, darling." Her voice was down almost to a whisper. "Tell me: is it mutual?"
Vivienne scoffed inwardly. As much as she had enjoyed her conversation with the woman, she was coming back to her senses. This was Orlais! And as much as she knew how the woman felt about music, art, the latest books and some less important personages of the court, she was not going to open her heart to a stranger. Before she could give the woman a reply, she had leaned forward, her face suddenly filled with urgency.
"Be on your guard, my dear. Tread carefully… Bastien is a willful man. If you allow him to, he will dominate your life, loom too large in your horizon."
Vivienne fell silent.
"Do you think you have what it takes to stand beside such a man without losing yourself in his shadow?" she asked. Her manner of asking was not confrontational, nor was it filled with the patronizing quality of a rhetorical question. It was an honest inquiry.
"Yes," Vivienne replied with assuredness.
Isadora eyes sparkled in the dark.
"Think carefully about what you wish for. And remember who you are, where you want to go. Tonight I had the utmost pleasure of becoming acquainted with a formidable woman. I would hope to continue to know her as such," she cautioned, sympathetically.
At this, Vivienne had to smile. The woman had spoken so fervently. The admiration was mutual.
"Since I have confided in you, will you indulge me?" Vivienne asked quietly. Inside the manor, laughter and cheers erupted at some undoubtedly vacuous entertainment. "How do you know the Duke so well?" She steeled herself to ask the question that had been nagging at her, the one she had begun to piece together after she had seen how clouded Bastien's expression had become at the sight of Isadora sitting there. "Were you one of his lovers?" she asked.
At this the woman contemplated her with delight.
"No…No…" she managed to say as her lips parted in a wide grin. "My, you really are innocent, aren't you? It is a good thing we met before the wolves got to you…Although I am sure you would give them quite the chase," she said mirthfully. "I am the Duchess de Ghislain…Bastien's wife."
Vivienne felt the blood drain from her face. She knew Bastien was a married man. A man of his station always was married. But such marriages were arranged, solely of convenience. Mistresses were an accepted arrangement, even consolation for such contracts. Until that moment, she had only considered Bastien's wife as an abstraction—as someone indifferent in the distant background. But that woman? That woman was the very essence of all she found beguiling and alluring. She was, she admitted, all she strove to emulate.
"Why are you offering me advice?" Vivienne confronted her, suddenly defensive.
"Bastien is very dear to me. He is an extraordinary man. I would not see his affections abused by an arriviste," she responded with a pensive air.
Long, tapered fingers reached for her own hand, taking it with affection.
"But if it's with you, ma belle…You, I like," was the simple, devastating reply. "You, I think I can be friends with."
"I normally never attend these affairs. I loathe playing the Game…and it's precisely why I excel at it. It will be the ruin of us all, you know," she explained as they wandered back to the ballroom together later on, arm in arm. "But I so wanted to meet you, darling," she confided.
"And how did you know I would find you?"
"I didn't!" she said. "It was too stifling in there, dear. In so many ways…So, it is a fortuitous coincidence that the Maker's stars led you to me."
When they crossed the threshold into the ballroom, other guests immediately began to vie for Isadora's attention. Vivienne saw, not without a modicum of envious admiration, that she brushed them away so deftly they were left grinning dazedly in her wake. She and Isadora stood directly before the dance floor as couples swirled before them. Across the way Bastien emerged from the conversing crowd, distancing himself from his entourage. The two women fell into an expectant silence as he approached them.
He bowed and quietly extended his hand to his Duchess.
"Will you do me the honor?" he invited her with great reverence.
Vivienne would not have expected him to do otherwise. Not before the entire court. If he had asked her instead, it would have been a futile, ill-advised manifestation of affection. She wouldn't have forgiven him for such an egregious indiscretion.
"Alas, mon cher," she said loudly enough so that she could be easily overheard by the nosy observers. "I find myself somewhat indisposed. But won't you extend your gracious invitation to dear Vivienne?," she offered. "I hope she will take my place most obligingly," she grinned, undoubtedly pleased with her own double speak.
He held still for a very brief moment before gallantly bowing to her and offering his extended hand to Vivienne.
"Will you honor me…with this dance?"
Vivienne seized the hand, clasping it tightly.
After that evening there had been few impediments when it came to them. Soon after, he secured her a prestigious apprenticeship with the Imperial Court's Enchantress, ensuring her greater freedom from the Circle. It was as if the slow pace that defined their interactions from the beginning had been lifted once he'd received Isadora's blessing.
She did not run into the Duchess again at any social events afterwards, which she was secretly relieved for. She had been so shaken by their meeting that she had considered dropping the whole matter, giving up on the prospect of becoming Bastien's lover.
She didn't though; she just couldn't, for despite all her meticulous plans she hadn't counted on one unexpected detail: she had already fallen in love.