Dressed to Suppress [OPEN]

[Pharaoh]

"Dressed to Suppress"
50 Ash 122
The Aurisian Embassy in the Solunarian Luxium

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Notwithstanding the forthcoming centennial jubilee for Her Divine Radiance, the Solar Sovereign, the event of the season for Solunarium's upper crust was to be the Aurisian Ball. The reclusive, elven desert kingdom of the North, would host the elite of the reclusive, elven desert kingdom to the South in their palatial embassy, set along the River Vasta in the Solunarian Luxium.

Though the invitations were targeted and few, the event was large enough in scale and broad enough in scope to include representatives from the top five castes of Solunarium. From Regalis to Equestris, the cream of the Solunarian crop, would don their finest attire and strut before crowds of onlookers who gathered around the entrance of the embassy for a glimpse at the gilt-edged greats of their time dressed in the latest couture. Remarkably, recent fashion trends were, for the first time in Solunarian history, heavily influenced by the fashion of Karnor. Whether arriving in the loose-fitting robes of Kalzasi, which merged rather seamlessly with aboriginal Solunarian styles, or in the sharper, tighter lines of the tragic land of Zaichær, Karnor seemed to be the place to imitate. Those who'd missed the memo were scoffed at.

Humans of the Equestrian caste were first to arrive. With more to prove than most, their styles could be ostentatious to a point that even Solunarians might balk at. In attire that blended classical simplicity with Northern sensibilities, the Patricians were next to arrive. The elves in their Autumn splendour would follow them and eventually, the royals themselves would appear. The Paterfamilii and Materfamilii of the royal cadet branches of House Sol'Aværys, and even Her Divine Radiance, the Solar Sovereign herself would process into the embassy, flanked by her Aværyan Guard- Baseborn cousins of the Blood, who pledged themselves to serve the Crown before all else.

Titles were announced by a herald as each guest stepped into the ballroom, where a throne had been set up for the Sovereign and a lower one for the Aurisian ambassador who served as host of the event. Old, even by Siltori standards, the thin-faced, silver-haired elf rose and bowed to greet the Sovereign as she claimed her golden seat at his side, to watch as those who'd been milling in the outer chambers began to step into the ballroom. Even the garb of the Solunarian sovereign seemed to be influenced by Northern trends, as the shoulders of her gown extended into sharp points off of which tassels dangled after the fashion of Zaichaeri epaulets. Over the ring of her radiant crown, a miniature sun blazed emitting a near blinding glow as it rotated. It cast off warmth enough to indicate that it was no mere illusion, but a true elemental force.

As the Aurisian Embassy had never hosted such a sprawling event, many were curious as to whether it was Auris' way of celebrating the sovereign's centennial, or whether it betokened some sort of announcement about the age-old alliance between the two elven cultures, who had so much in common and so much to gain from forging and fortifying their relationship. Whatever was to come of the evening, it was only now beginning. As the ballroom began to fill out, the Sovereign beckoned to a tall, black-clad knight of Auris- a handsome elf, light of hair and slender of build, who knelt before her as they conferred inaudibly.

[Aeden]

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In the process of writing a solo depicting with Æden's runeforging work on his outfit. Will link to that in this post when it's completed.

Work was put into Æden's attire for the Aurisian Ball. As a runeforger of some skill, he took it upon himself to impress. Artisans talked, and he waited until the last second to work on his own suit to ensure that it was properly unique. He knew he would not be the only one to arrive in runeforged attire. The important part was that he was dressed in something his. As such, ideas were created and scrapped for days before he started his work on a pair of tailored slacks, a tailored shirt and fitted vest, leather boots that went up to his knees, and a loose cape that draped around his shoulders. Some gold embroidery decorated the hems without being too ostentatious, but the cape went a step further to feature desert flower and animal designs, made of both bead and gold-dyed thread — nothing too extravagant, but animals such as gazelles, a Serpentes Scorpius wyvern, a snake, and even a hare were depicted, the glass beads catching the light that the black fabric did not.

After Æden's handiwork, it was taken a step further. The fabric of the outer garments was now an even richer black than it had been before — so black, in fact, that it absorbed all light. You could not spot a wrinkle or fold even in full sun, and such vantablack provided a more striking base for the gold embroidery, whose light-catching properties were enhanced. His boots had been modified in a similar fashion, and the solid black leather was undecorated. He wore gold rings on his fingers and a gold pin holding up half of his waist-length silver hair. As far as he knew, no other had conceived of commissioning moving embroidery, and with the way the rest of the outfit was adorned but without extravagance, he hoped it would make the time he had spent on the cape worthwhile.

He was announced as Hortensius Val'Camillus Æden Principalus Caeli. He arrived somewhere in the middle of the invited elven guests, and he stepped into the ballroom, spying the cliques of those who had already arrived and clung to people he knew. He had yet to recognize anyone — at least, recognize anyone as someone he wished to speak to — but proper respect and bows were given to royalty as they entered last. He knew some of Auris, but he had never been, but he knew enough that their continued cooperation was important — but he did not know the details of such things. Invited to an extravagant ball, though, he had to attend, and a discerning eye kept note of the fashion, and in particular any runeforged styles that came through the doors. Though it was only work that kept him busy on the side, anything that was displayed here would be wanted elsewhere soon enough.

[Hilana Chenzira]

If there was one thing Hilana never expected to be delivered to her, it had been an invitation to the Aurisian Ball being hosted at the Embassy. Some part of her was deeply suspicious about why she, of all the many, many, many Equestrians of the city had gotten an invitation, but after talking it over with Æden, one thing was for sure: she was going to have to attend. And being a herbalist, she couldn’t even fake being ill. Even if she wasn’t a herbalist, she could not hardly not go.

And if you were going to go, you went in style.

She had given the reins to Æden and the tailor to best decide what to go with, and the girl had honestly been shocked by the results. Compared to most of the bright outfits of the Equestrian Caste, some of Zaichaeri and some of Kalzasern, Hilana’s was much darker and more understated. She wore a flowing black silk hanfu-style gown with gold feathers embroidered on it, on the outsides of her arms and along the bottom of the gown between her knees and her ankles, though on the wide belt was a golden lotus. Her jewelry was limited to her hair and her ears; a set of seven combs and sticks of ornate gold and pearl flowers, the first four of which held golden beads and pearls upon gold chain, almost long enough to reach her shoulders. The latter three were more affixed into the enormous braided bun, that rose up at the back of her head, and while they had no tassels, the wide golden combs showing off flowers that contrasted so starkly with her onyx hair. The earrings were part of the set, and for once, the other seven holes on her ears were left empty. Gold ribbon had been sewn and woven into the bun to help secure it; because when her hair had been temporarily straightened for the occasion, the length had gotten, well… surprising. It was no less heavy, but it was much, much longer, and the lightly scented oil made it easier to manage and gave it a sheen under the lights.

The words of the Vigilia came unbidden from that night in the Templum Mediae Noctis Matris. In light or shadow, go in grace.

When she stepped from the cab, having been utterly forbidden to arrive by camel, Hilana remembered the advice. Head up, shoulders back, and smooth, flowing steps. Once the door opened, she stepped out, gazing on towards the Embassy, noting those who had gathered to watch the arrivals. To them, she was an unknown, though how much she would be later… the girl wasn’t about to speculate. But strut she did, her steps in the delicate sandals that laced up along her calves light and practiced. The long, flowing sleeves swayed with her, far more fabric than she ever normally wore, especially on her arms. The sinuous gown draping around her legs didn’t bother her, not with her usual skirts, but the sleeves… well, it was for one night.

She knew Æden would arrive later; but being Equestrian meant they were the first ones there, and she followed along with the others for now. When she was announced as Matsi Chenzira Hilana, she knew it was going to get back to Tertium. That alone made her put a smile on her face as she made her way in… her father was going to be livid. But talking she could do while she waited for the others, and talking she would do, drifting amongst the others of her caste and making small talk, offering compliments and inquiring about where their own outfits has come, and talking up the Vastian tailor who had made her own. Just like in Tertium, wear the mask and play the role. The gamble had went as well as could be expected when she compared her own garments to the others, and from the safety of the crowd, she could follow the movements of the others when the time came to curtsy.

Hilana kept an ear open to the Herald, hoping to hear other names that she would recognize, and she did turn when Dominus Æden’s name was announced by the Herald, and her eyes went to the entrance to find the Starborn. Even with all the lights of the Embassy, that was truly something, the way it seemed to absorb all light. She knew she would have to wait a bit and let him socialize with the others of the higher ranks, but in the meantime, she could start drifting her way there in his direction amongst the growing swell of people, bowing and slipping past where she could.

[Arvælyn]

Having learned of the recent trend toward Northern fashions that seemed to be sweeping Solunarium's elite, Arvælyn was well-positioned to take advantage of the opportunity. He'd come from Kalzasi with clothes, of course, many of them fine. He'd mostly chosen the lighter garb that would best suit the desert climate of Solunarium, and that which was as similar to what he knew of the local attire. As such, he had a few options for things to wear. At the suggestion of his Solunarian relations, he picked out his top choice a week or so earlier, and took it to a tailor to add Solunarian accents to the Kalzasern style, as well as a Runeforger who would apply ætheric ornamentation.

He was anxious, seated in the carriage queue leading up to the entrance of the Aurisian Embassy. He could hear the buzz of a crowd outside who'd gathered to observe the spectacle of couture that would ensue as guests arrived. His hands fidgeted upon his lap, fingers swirling along the fabric of his skirt. He'd been in the presence of royals of the Unbroken Line, now, but not in settings where he might have to interact with them. This felt like trial by fire, but he'd been in Solunarium for well over a full season now, altogether. Perhaps it was due time he put all his training to the test.

He nestled his shoulder against Finn's, and looked across to the other side of the carriage where Princess Cithæra of Gens Phædryn-Sol'Aværys, as she was to be referred in her present ostentatious regalia, as opposed to when she wore her Sentinel blacks, was seated with her dashing, albeit enigmatic, consort, Val'Sorokys Kyrin.

"You needn't worry so, Arvælyn. You'll enter the main ballroom with Kyrin. I shall arrive some time later. If you find yourself in a predicament, you'll have plenty of support. Even beyond those you know, I have sentinels everywhere..." It was cold comfort, to Arry's pointed ears, but it was all he had and, ere long, they were at the entrance.

The coachman helped him down and the eyes of the crowd turned to the latest coach to loose guests onto the walkway. A few disappointed groans were uttered as an unknown golden elf stepped down from his coach in a simple, black sari that hugged his curves while offering little else in the way of glamour beyond flattering a shapely physique. When Finn stepped to his side, Arry smiled to himself and spoke the runic trigger, which he learned was the Vallenor command word for:

"Illuminate." Once that had been spoken, the black seemed to burst with radiant hues of scarlet and gold, that wove in Kalzasern celestial patterns that danced along the fabric, and even the bare skin that was framed by the asymmetrical cut of the sari. Gyroscopic belts of northerly sigils extended into the surrounding air, and whirled in lazy, luminescent patterns that orbited the elf. The disappointed crowd was suddenly enraptured, as he stepped forth and ascended the staircase to enter the embassy.

Having arrived on the later end, the cocktail hour in the outer chamber was sparsely populated, as guests were heading into the ballroom. Arvælyn had time to snag a sparkling cocktail, and then Kyrin urged Finn and him toward the queue of delegates. As they reached the grand archway, Arry took Finn's arm. His feigned father stepped forward first, and the herald called forth in Vastian:

"His Lordship, Leukus Val'Sorokys Kyrin, His Lordship Kyros Len'Sorokys Arvælyn and Finn Peregrinus..." The herald glanced to the fair-skinned human, "...guest."

[Finn]

Finn had spent the carriage ride in relative silence, schooling his symphony with the hope that he could prove as inscrutable as Cithæra herself, and attempting to radiate calm for Arvælyn, as well. Even as a Master of his Craft, he wasn't certain how many Mesmers and Semblers of sufficient skill would be at the event who might pierce the veil of his own magic. He honestly didn't know if Kalzasi could stand against Solunarium should the queendom seek empire once more. His once unshakeable faith in the Avialae was gone since the assassination of the Shokaze and the kidnapping of the Shinsei and his new husband.

He had brought some of his finer attire, and Phocion's tailor had rifled through it all, selected an achkan coat and a few other things before disappearing with it. When it returned, Finn wasn't bothered by the alterations. It had been deconstructed somewhat, allowing the thinnest of layers underneath to peek out and allow air to move, keeping him cooler. The sash about his waist held it closed, and thankfully, it was all more understated than most people's. He wasn't sure how he felt about the runeforging involved. It gave him a mere sparkle compared to his lover, but it also served to do something with his Mesmer. When he had asked, he had been told don't worry about it.

Of course, he was worried about it, but only Arvælyn and Cithæra probably picked up on it.

Being the plus-one didn't faze him; he was used to being the glorified "help" at such events. It wouldn't be proper for him to outshine his date in any event, and that was just fine by him. He only really wanted to shine when he was performing, and this was Arvælyn's sort of performance.

"Perhaps I should start going by Finn Farstrider," he suggested quietly, hoping to trick Arvælyn into laughing at him. "Long legs. Traversion. Bard who has traveled across continents...?"

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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While one could hazard to state that inviting him to any sort of diplomatic event was questionable given his current erratic behavior, the Færie was yet still invited by name. The missive had arrived at his family’s estate in Umbrium and delivered to him by a sister of his, one who insisted that he go. She, too, would be in attendance but mentioned that the two of them might not see one another all things considered. Either way, the concept both exhausted and intrigued Æros. Politics and the like did interest him, but with everything that had happened thus far this Ash…? He was…a bit tired. Ah well, though.

And so he did. The star-crossed Fæ arrived wearing a vibrant, royal purple silk andon hakama that almost seemed to evaporate at the edges. Æros had enchanted it with Masquerade; the illusion gave an ethereal sort of look, blending the colors into the air around him as if he were wearing watercolors. The purple of the fabric would blend into deep blues, warm oranges, bright golds and radiant reds. Beneath this he wore something inspired by a Kalzasern kimono, and though it was also made of silk, it was much thinner and not nearly as layered as the traditional garment was for the sake of his comfort in the desert heat. The outer layer of the kimono was a deep, black silk and the inner was a brilliant gold. The magic affecting his hakama did so on the kimono as well, though the color palette was limited between the black and gold.

The strange, eldritch creature of a man looking like he’d stepped out of a painting as he strode up to the palatial embassy. As was usual for him, Æros had arrived several drinks deep and high off a…reasonable…amount of opium. On the outside, however, he wouldn’t really show it unless somebody knew him very well. He wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings yet and for now, he didn’t really notice anyone in particular. Lazily, he acquired whatever sparkling sort of cocktail was offered before making his way over to the ballroom’s entrance.

Approaching the embassy’s archway, “His Lordship, Endymion Len’Sælyan Æros.” His expression was somewhat blank at the reading of his name and forward he walked.

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Raithen]

Raithen had arrived earlier in the evening, his clothing was simple in the way that the most expensive of clothing was. His body was tanned and over-fit from the summer season spent out in the sun suppressing the evils the Mist had spawned to plague the desert villages and while the well fitted garments did not show skin they did show him off.

The Avialae hadn't taken note of the outfit at all. It had been laid out for him along with the note instructing him where to be and when. No signature was needed, he'd have known his mother's hand with his eyes swollen shut. The instructions had been simple and not ones he hadn't had before. There were several people he was instructed to keep an eye on, note who they spoke to, their moods. If possible he was to be charming to two of them, insert his family's name.

It wasn't the sort of work Phocion would be sent to do. His brother was far more sophisticated and could handle things that were so far over Raithen's head that he was only aware of being unaware of them. He had been taught how to impart the information he gathered with facial expression and tiny, simple gestures, whenever his mother caught his eyes or came to greet him during the reception.

He bowed low and then took her hands in his and kissed the backs of each, showing great respect and deference for the one who had borne him. The adoration in his eyes was unmistakable and not part of any games of statesmanship or intrigue. Cithæra's middle son would have leapt from the tip of Mount Sorokyn after cutting his own wings from his back, had his mother told him to do so.

When it was time to enter the ballroom Raithen took his place, which took him a moment to calculate, behind two men that he knew well enough to be comfortable with and his mother and elder brother. It was a more comfortable position than he usually enjoyed and it led to him feeling less pinned down and examined when his turn to be announced came.

Once he was out of the main line of sight he would wait until there was an opening and then attempt to greet Finn and Arvælyn.

[Pharaoh]

The chamber orchestra whose music reverberated through the large hall as if the sound was coming from the very air particles around the guests, shifted into a minor key that seemed to presage the arrival of Caste Regalis.

“His Serene Highness, Octavian Phædryn-Sol’Aværys Phocion Princeps,
Her Serene Highness Augusta Phædryn-Sol’Aværys Valæra Princeps and
Her Serene Highness Camilla Phædryn-Sol’Aværys Cithæra Princeps Sybilla.” The princes of Phædryn’s gens stood atop the grand staircase as the eyes of the guests turned to them. The herald’s cry was enough to draw even Her Divine Radiance’s gaze, which lifted from the slender young elven knight kneeling before her to regard her cousin rival. Her smirk was in earnest today as old plans had recently been set into motion to shore up her advantage in their covert Cold War.

The Materfamilias of Gens Phædryn stood at the point of their triad, as they descended the steps in a slow, graceful symmetry. The golden mother flanked by her two silver scions, all dressed in a simple black base that might have been a nod to their sentinel uniforms, except that each was accented by flowing capes and plates of gleaming silver akin to armour. Chest plates, pauldrons, vambraces, grieves and other accents from which hung argent chains that further offset the black basewear. Each wore a simple princely circlet and a mild expression as the crowd parted to admit them.

The Solar Sovereign glanced to the young man before her and at her gesture, he stood and stepped aside, taking his place at the right hand of the Aurisian ambassador.

The Phædryns made a slow procession directly for the daïs. Bows offered went unacknowledged, as their sights remained forward toward their destination. Cithæra had travelled with her other children who now stood apart from the triad. They knew of her regard, and of her duties tonight. The three elves stood before their monarch, offering the obligatory bows and curtseys of respect to their liege. The Sovereign addressed them in Vallenor, rather than Vastian as she greeted them:

“Cousins.” Thalya IV’s smile was broad enough to be noteworthy and concerning to Cithæra who, though she was the greatest Sembler in the realm, dared not practise her Craft upon the sovereign who ever had her own potent mages assessing threats.

“We are grateful to your Gens for establishing the new accords we here celebrate, and particularly to the Princess Valæra for brooking so much time abroad of the nourishing Atraxian sun, to oversee the construction in Auris.”

“Ever in your service, Divine Radiance.” The Moonborn princess replied with a curtsy.

“Of course you know Ambassador d’Averyx.” The Sovereign gestured to the Siltori seated at her side. The Phædryns bowed more subtly to one to whom they owed plentiful respect albeit no fealty. “And allow me to introduce his ward, Sir Ayreon.” She gestured to the young knight and as Cithæra clapped eyes on him, she physically tensed. Phocion and Valæra exchanged a furtive glance. Their mother was fair unflappable even in settings where she wasn’t as on guard as tonight. That the mistress of secrets should be ostensibly surprised in front of the Sovereign, was worrying indeed.

“Sir Ayreon.” Cithæra inclined her head in salutation.

“Please, enjoy the festivities. I shall summon you forth when we adjourn to the courtyard to unveil our joint achievement.” Thalya IV’s gaze deepened, fixed upon the eyes of the Phædryn materfamilias. “It is truly amazing what our family can do when we are aligned to common purpose. Is it not, Cousin?”

“Tis…” Cithæra replied coolly. “Come, children. Let us clear the daïs for the arrival of the Unbroken.” The Sovereign arched an eyebrow, catching her meaning: That Phædryn was set apart from its cousin branches. If the other line was ‘Unbroken’, where did that leave Phædryn?

Princess Cithæra pivoted, and descended the steps of the daïs, followed by her children as, across the long room, the herald called forth:

“His Serene Highness Thalyus Vlahos-Sol’Aværys Vrædyn Princeps Pontifex and his betrothed, Her Serene Highness Gallia Naxos-Sol’Aværys Ilythia Princeps…” The festivities would continue with drinks, dancing, and passed plates of hors d’oeuvres as the final esteemed guests, representatives from every princely branch, filed into the room to greet the ambassador and the Solar Sovereign.

Sir Ayreon of Auris

[Hilana Chenzira]

Hilana, like most of the Equestrians in attendance, kept an eye on the doorway and an ear on the Herald. Most were looking to see what their social betters had on, and as each Caste progressed, the outfits were becoming flashier and more magical than the next. The nomad, on the other hand, was listening for the announcement of the arrival of her friends, and one by one, the names that she was hoping to hear were being called. She did hope she would be able to make her way to them at some point during the evening, and depending on how the crowds ebbed and flowed, she was going to do her best to make it happen. Still, at the bottom of the pecking order…

While moving amongst the Equestrians, she accepted a drink with the others, toasting with them to their Queen and their Host, the Ambassador, playing her part. The miserable lessons she had learned in Tertium had stuck, like all of those learned with bitterness did. She was naturally a chatterbox, given the opportunity, but the problem was in the refinement. But Arvaelyn had taught her a lesson in their first encounter about feigning charisma, and she was putting it to practice now. Ask questions, find out where interests overlapped, and focus on that. She thought it was kind of working, she had people laughing with her instead of at her. She was also at least learning about people she had never seen in her life, and with luck, never would again… but she did finish her drink, and passed the empty glass back before making her way into the throng.

She did not get far, though, as she found herself caught up on her way towards the Starborn. “Would you care for a dance?” The Patrician offered his gloved hand with a raised eyebrow, looking her over. Equestrian, and yet not as overdone as they usually were… Hilana knew it would be rude to decline, so she took the proffered hand, inclining her head with a bright smile.

“The pleasure is mine,” she agreed, letting him draw her onto the floor. Flowing black and gold contrasted against a sharply cut white suit with a military-styled jacket, silver buttons on the diagonal lapel, though the vest and tie were black and silver. The fluted kerchief in the breast pocket was black as well. “This isn’t some shimmy and hip swaying that you do in front of the fire. Stay on your toes, never put your heels down, pull up, watch the frame, and let him lead you.” Marah had always been dry in her remonstrations, but at least they were getting put to good use as she did just that, moving easily with the impromptu dance partner, her eyes on the young Lord’s. She was hardly an expert, but she was light enough in her step and utterly determined to not fall on her face…

[Arvælyn]

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"Plus it recreates the trifecta of your former alliterative title, now that you are confirmed fantastic!" Arvælyn noted encouragingly, speaking Common with his lover out of ease. He supposed, after a fashion, it went along with the aesthetic theme of the evening... or was it æsthetic here? Whatever the case:

"Finn 'The Fantastic' Farstrider." He held his hands out, as if performing and presenting the name. "I'm not sure if you're in jest, but I quite like it in sooth." He bit the corner of his lip, "It's actually rather sexy..." The youth scanned over the form of his beloved, as if regarding him anew now that he'd whimsically adopted a novel moniker. It didn't hurt the illusion that Finn was dressed particularly finely, looking more the prince than he had since his capstone performance in Kalzasi to Arry's golden eyes.

Arry looked to Lord Kyrin, offering the stone-faced statue of a man a friendly smile that he didn't expect to be returned.

"Potabo nos vinum?" The younger elf required of the elder.

"Non, gratias. Vos duo bibere." Kyrin declined, and proved Arry correct in retaining his default grimace, eyes fixed on the entrance at the top of the staircase.

"Just for us, then, I suppose." Arry noted to Finn, taking a few steps away before whispering, "It seems like my mum has him whipped, innit..." Upon finding one of the attending servants with a tray, he smiled. There were only two drinks left and another guest was drawing close to collect them, so Arry sprung to action extending both hands. The servant nearly dropped the tray in surprise as the two flutes of pale, sparkling wine began to float away and into the grasp of the radiantly ornamented Arvælyn.

"For the Lord Farstrider." He loosened his grip on the drink in his left hand and let it hover toward Finn, only releasing his Kinetic hold once his amatus had it well in hand. He grinned winsomely,

"Do you fancy a dance after this drink, or-..."

All at once, the tenor of the room shifted. The music darkened, and the many conflicting reactions of the surrounding Symphonies were impossible to ignore. He saw his winged brother Raithen had just reached the bottom of the staircase, and his mother stood at the point of a dark trinity. To her left stood a woman he hadn't met, but who he recognised must be his hitherto absent sister, and to her right stood Phocion. Both of those flanking Cithæra had traveled separately and, though he'd seen his mum in the carriage over, he hadn't really seen her ensemble in full effect.

As the music shifted and the House of Phædryn was announced, beginning to descend, he noted... as did many others, judging from their symphonies, that the black-clad triad was dressed for war. As they crossed the room, guests bowed as the princes passed, Arvælyn following suit, and watching them approach the Solar Sovereign.

Their exchange was, of course, inaudible and Arry dared not practise any but the most passive, almost perfunctory Mesmer in this intimidatingly estimable company. Soon the casual (if one could deem it that) conversation resumed, and Arvælyn took note of a few familiar folks in the crowd. Even with all the showy regalia, it was hard to miss Raithen's wings peaking out above the heads of the crowd. He could see Æros, bold as ever, wearing royal colours in front of royalty. It favoured his ever shifting complexion, Arry thought. In blacker garb than any sentinel, albeit accented in gold, he saw Æden, the Principalus who'd taken him on his first wyvern ride. With a bit of surprise, he even saw Hilana... but then, recalling the Eve of Æquinox in Varvara's temple, he wondered whether Cithæra hadn't had a hand in her invitation. The attention of the Mistress of Chains had been cast upon this daughter of the Vastii, in which his mother saw no small portent.

He stood by with Finn, finishing off his drink and watching the progression of the court dances and, remembering his whilom days learning choreography, he noted that these formal promenades were comparatively quite simple.

"I think I've got the hang of this." He said, discarding his flute on a nearby ledge. He offered his hand to Finn and, even though it looked as though his body was awash in fire and magma, his hand was cool to the touch as ever.

"Shall we dance, Milord Farstrider?"