hands) with silver graters made to look like fanciful creatures, into individual cups—or, at large parties, as in this case, smaller pots into which the hot water was poured, then whisked together with silver whisks until it foamed. Only then was the fragrant dark brew poured into the small cups and handed round to the guests, who each added sugar and cream to taste.
In the mornings, the Duchess Tremontaine took her chocolate black; but in the afternoon, she permitted herself a little sugar and a great deal of cream.
She watched to see how Asper Lindley took his, and was rewarded with the sight of him being singularly honored by his hostess herself serving him with lump after lump of brown sugar.
“Thank you, Clara,” he said. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”
She saw Clara Galing’s hand shake as it returned to the silver sugar bowl again, saw her face, hidden for a moment from all but Diane, contort in rage and disgust.
The truth was plain. Lord Asper Lindley might as well have had a scroll above his head, written in Lord Galing’s hand: You will show him every courtesy.
And Clara Galing obeyed to the letter. Out of love, out of fear, who knew? Lindley was a notorious gossip. Lady Galing’s behavior concerning himself would be reported directly back to the Crescent Chancellor. Between the sheets, probably. Diane shuddered, ready to blame it on a chill from the window, if anyone asked.
“And how is dear William?” Lindley, with his sugary chocolate, had made his way to the duchess’s side, not even bothering to offer to fetch her a cup. Fortunately, Lord Humphrey Devize had already claimed the privilege. He knew just how she liked it.
“My husband is well,” the duchess said. “Although I think you see him as much as I do, being both so occupied in Council.”
“Yes, we are quite grown-up now,” said Lindley. “Grown-up and responsible.” He gave her what was meant to be a charming smile. “We were boys together, or should I say young men, when our fathers first saw fit to bring us to the city and put a little town polish on us.” He waited for her to say how much younger than that he looked. But she simply kept an expression of pleasant inquiry upon her face. “Would it be indiscreet of me to say that we discovered some of its more recondite pleasures . . . together?”
The duchess smiled. “No, as long as you don’t enumerate them.” Lindley’s jibes were inexpressibly tedious. He was not a man of wit. It galled her to know that she could demolish him with a few well-chosen words, and that she must on no account do so. And it galled her to know that she must not only continue to endure his conversation as long as it pleased him to afflict her with it, but must pretend to enjoy the experience. Usually she found it restful, talking to idiots; it required so little of her actual attention. But Asper Lindley had a certain social cunning. He knew when he was being ignored; indeed, the duchess thought he needled largely to make sure that it never happened.
She looked Lindley in the eye, so that her peripheral gaze could scan the room for Humphrey with the chocolate, and said, “But, as you say, you are all grown-up and responsible now. And a credit to your houses. In truth, I am surprised to find you here this afternoon, Lord Asper. I know your great interest in politics.”
“Ah,” he said. People always said Ah when they needed extra time to think. He was probably trying to figure out whether she’d insulted him or not. He must have decided not, since he went on. “Well, today the Council of Lords is set to discuss barley and shipping. My father’s lands are mostly in cows and sheep, so I thought I might be spared for a little socializing. And besides, poor Clara . . . who knows how much longer we may have the pleasure of her company?”
Over his shoulder, Diane saw the rather large Lord Humphrey wheezing his way through the crowd, balancing her chocolate. It wouldn’t be long now. But Lindley had time for a parting shot: “By the way, I love what you’ve made of that dress.”
“Oh?” The duchess raised her delicately shaped eyebrows to give him time to wonder if she was going to take umbrage or not. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
Lord Humphrey caught the last of this. “Too much?” he blustered. “Never! Too much of you would still be not enough, sweetest lady!”
What an old dear he was. He flirted with her shamelessly. Diane turned her attention to him. “You’ve brought me chocolate! And just the way I like it, too.” She sipped delicately, and Asper Lindley took the hint. He bowed and went off to bother someone else.
Diane did not even look after him.
“And now, gentles!” Lady Galing coughed delicately into a handkerchief, drew a deep breath and announced: “Let us withdraw into the Blue Salon. Our dear Miss Sophronia Latimer has consented to soothe our cares and refresh our spirits with a little harp music.”
Lord Humphrey had the pleasure of escorting Diane, Duchess Tremontaine, into the Blue Salon. He was tremendously wealthy, and had the Horned God’s own luck with cards. She had been considering asking him for the cash to ransom Highcombe and put her back on her feet. He might do it just to be gallant. But men had hidden depths, even amiable men like Lord Humphrey. He was just as likely to expect her to sleep with him, and that she would not do. She had spent her life making sure she owed no one anything.
Diane de Tremontaine settled her green, foamy skirts around her in the small velvet salon chair, and took her cup and saucer back from Lord Humphrey. The long harp recital would give her plenty of time to think. She took a sip of the thick rich chocolate, and considered the letter on her desk, waiting to be sent. It was either a good idea, or merely a clever one. It was certainly a gamble. But the Duchess Tremontaine was very used to winning.
Episode 2: The North Side of the Sun
by Alaya Dawn Johnson
Ixkaab Balam, third of the name, first daughter of a first daughter of the greatest trading family of the Kinwiinik, had been fully trained in the ways of the Locals, the Xanamwiinik. She had learned their language, their dances, their uncomfortable manner of dress.
She had learned these things over the course of years in the Balam family compound in Binkiinha, in between her more important studies of the five major trading partners and her missions on behalf of her family. She had enjoyed their study, as the people across the sea to the north were profoundly different from those of the civilized world. But she had never expected to find herself actually stationed in this backwater, among the people with skin the color of ant eggs. What’s more, here, even the elders of the family watched her with suspicion and exchanged rumors of the disaster that had chased her here.
It had been seven months since it had happened (she avoided thinking about the specifics as she would avoid passing too close to a sleeping jaguar), but she still hadn’t accustomed herself to being in disgrace. She passed her nights embroidering ideas of how she could serve her family and regain their trust—but every morning, all such thoughts evaporated beneath the unblinking eye of reality, these people’s weak and pallid sun.
Here, in reality, there was to be a feast when the sun set tomorrow. Kaab had spent the last four hours stuffing dried maize husks and banana leaves with various preparations of maize dough and seasonings. It would not be a feast to dignify the family name without several thousand tamales. Her aunts and cousins and family servants had mostly kept their conversation among themselves. Or perhaps it was simply that Kaab, ignorant of the daily minutiae of their lives here, had no means of entering it. She wished that she had never gone on that mission to Tultenco. Or at least that soldiers of the Tullan hadn’t been searching the coast for a woman of her description. Wishing so fervently
