It was a gloomy prospect, and all that she could do was to throw a mist over it, and hope when the mist cleared away, she should see something else. -- Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

The day of the Year's End Ball arrived. Considering certain recent events, Kilan was even less enthusiastic about it than he would have been otherwise. The prospect of having to talk to and dance with a collection of people he neither knew nor trusted... It was enough to make him contemplate locking himself in his room and never coming out again.

He made the mistake of saying this to Nadriet that morning. He was promptly treated to an indignant lecture about how much she was looking forward to the party.

"I've never been at a party this grand before!" she exclaimed, looking at him as if she questioned his sanity. "I'll get to meet so many new people, and I've had a lovely dress made just for the party, and I'll have my hair specially done with jewels braided through it, and if you don't go it'll spoil the ball for everyone else!"

"All right, all right!" Kilan said, holding up his hands. "It was only an idle thought. I know I can't get out of it."

~~~~

A festive atmosphere pervaded through the entire palace. Everywhere servants were rushing to and fro, attending to last minute decorations or carrying chairs down to the large banquet hall. The air of excitement even began to infect Kilan.

Perhaps tonight won't be as terrible as I thought, he reflected as his valet, aided by a hairdresser, fixed Kilan's diadem in place with several long hairpins[1]. This thought was quickly followed by, At least we'll have plenty to eat. From the length of the menu, the cooks must have thought the entire Empire is attending.

At last Kilan was ready. His red and gold robes, embroidered with golden thread and with small gems sewn onto them, glittered when he moved. This combined with his golden diadem made him feel rather like a walking bank vault.

Guests were already gathering downstairs. Qihadal was nowhere to be seen yet.

"She's still getting dressed," one of her maids told him when he asked where she was. "Her hair has a strange texture that's driving the hairdressers to despair. It keeps falling down when they try to style it."

Over an hour later, a decidedly disgruntled Qihadal finally appeared. The hairdressers had apparently given up the battle with her hair. Instead of being swept up in the elaborate curls and buns that most noblewomen wore their hair in, it was braided into several long plaits decorated with ribbons and flowers.

Her lilac and pink dress was made of a material that hung loosely on her, and her gold- and jewel-encrusted diadem sparkled in the light. As Kilan offered her his arm, he thought wryly that whatever else the guests found to gossip about, at least no one could say the Emperor and Empress didn't look sufficiently royal.

~~~~

The grand ballroom was a large room covered with amber and gold paint, with marble pillars placed near the walls, and a floor that probably wasn't made of actual silver but certainly looked as if it was. Silver chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and more lights were fixed to each pillar. The wall facing out onto the gardens was nothing but one large window. The orchestra were positioned in a large alcove behind the pillars, where they could be heard but would not get in anyone's way. A long table with refreshments had been set up in front of the window.

All in all, Kilan thought that even the Iqui would be hard pressed to match the room's grandeur.

Tradition, that bane of Kilan's life, dictated that the Emperor and Empress must dance the first dance together, to officially open the ball. And then they must not dance together again for the rest of the night. Apparently this was to ensure that they both met and interacted with members of the nobility who would otherwise never get to speak to them face to face.

Kilan wished he knew who was responsible for the Empire's traditions. He would have a few choice words for them if he ever found out. At least he knew Qihadal well enough to carry on a conversation with her. He hadn't a clue what he would say to the noblewomen he was expected to dance with.

~~~~

The ball was going quite well, all things considered. No one had done anything extremely embarrassing, beyond a few sub-par dancers stumbling their way around the room. Even the ordeal of speaking to and dancing with complete strangers proved less arduous than Kilan had feared. The noblewomen he danced with were much too interested in talking themselves to expect him to talk much.

About an hour into the ball he got his first warning that things were not going as well as they seemed.

It was in the middle of a complicated dance that involved switching partners every few minutes. Kilan was too focused on not tripping and making a fool of himself to pay much attention of most of the women he found himself partnered with in this dance. But as he turned to give his hand to the woman beside him, he did a double take.

When they were working, Death and her Reapers had wings -- long, feathery, raven's wings that could carry them anywhere in the universe they had to go. When they weren't actively gathering souls, they didn't have wings and looked like normal humans. But they only appeared normal if one didn't look too closely. Look closer, and there was something off about them in their eyes, their movements, even the way they stood.

Kilan had spent such a long time around inhabitants of the Land of the Dead that he could recognise a Reaper at a glance, even if they didn't have their wings.

This woman was one.

She was a pale redhead, with unusually wide, pale grey eyes, wearing a dark blue dress. There was nothing about her that would make a casual observer look twice. But a sort of shadow hung over her, like it did all the Reapers, and the air around her was cold.

Kilan stared at her even as he offered her his hand. She laughed as she took it.

"I owe Hayesphira twenty hourglasses," she said before Kilan had a chance to speak. "He was sure you'd be able to distinguish between us and them." She jerked her head in the general direction of the other party-goers. "I thought you wouldn't."

"Why are you here?" Kilan asked, a cold sense of dread settling in his chest. "Is someone going to die?"

The Reaper grinned. "That would be telling! But I just came here because I had nothing else to do and I was bored, and because I wanted to get a better look at you. I've only seen you from a distance before." She looked at him curiously. "Frankly, I don't see why the Queen's so fond of you. You're not my type at all."

At this point the dancers switched partners again. The Reaper disappeared into the crowd. Kilan found himself partnered with a rather boring countess -- who was fully human, thank goodness, but was rather too gushing in her praise of her home-town. Kilan tuned out her chatter and wondered if he should be amused or insulted by the Reaper's parting comment.

~~~~

That dance ended. Kilan decided to sit out the next one, and went over to the refreshments table for a glass of wine.

Now that he knew there were Reapers present, he spotted more and more of them among the crowd. They mingled among the regular party-goers, dancing and chatting with them. None of the humans suspected they were anything other than normal guests from some distant corner of the Empire. No one realised what they were talking to.

Kilan remembered something Death had said once, about the Reapers attending parties like this to amuse themselves. Perhaps there was no sinister reason for their presence after all.

~~~~

Two hours had passed. Kilan felt the beginnings of a headache as yet another dance ended. He caught a glimpse of Qihadal politely but firmly shooing away the man she had been dancing with. She looked even more exhausted than her husband felt.

There was a pause between dances to give everyone a chance to rest -- and gossip, which seemed to be how most of the guests spent their time.

Kilan moved over to stand by the pillars near the orchestra. There were fewer people over there and he would be less likely to be forced into a conversation with someone or other.

The temperature dropped. Kilan stifled a groan. Was this another Reaper come to alarm him?

He looked round.

And stared.

It wasn't another Reaper. It was Death herself, in an arsenic-green dress that exposed far too much of her skin for his peace of mind, with a wine glass in her hand.

"Stop gawking at me like that," Death said with a grin. "People will notice."

Kilan spluttered. He tried to look her in the face. It was rather difficult, when his eyes kept moving to her bare shoulders and the cleavage exposed by her low-cut dress. "What-- Why-- Why are you here?"

Death looked suddenly grim for a moment. "A man will die here at midnight. I'm here to collect his soul. But in the meantime, I decided it would be amusing to pretend to be a guest."

"What?"

The word was out of his mouth before Kilan realised he'd spoken more loudly than was wise. A few people looked over at him curiously.

"Someone's going to die?" he said, more quietly. "But-- But--"

Death took a drink from her wine glass. She spoke around the edge of it, her voice slightly muffled. "Correction: someone's going to be murdered."

All the colour drained from Kilan's face. The room swam before his eyes. He half-leaned, half-fell back against the pillar. "Explain this. Now."

"There's very little to explain," Death said quietly. "One of your guests recently bought a piece of land that another guest believes is rightfully his. The second man is disgruntled about this. A certain group have paid him to murder his rival tonight. Before midnight, an accomplice of the second man will lure the first man over near the window under pretence of talking to him. At midnight, the lights will begin to flicker, and then will go out for just under a minute. In the darkness the second man will stab the first man with a specially-made dagger, and push the window open fully to make it seem he fled through it. However, he will remain in the room in hopes of avoiding suspicion."

Kilan listened to this recitation of horrors with shock and fury. "Then I'll stop it! I'll order the servants to check the lighting, or I'll warn the man who's about to be killed! Who is he?"

"A nobleman from Odgeiros. I can't tell you anything else." Death handed her now-empty glass to a passing servant. She took a step forward and grabbed Kilan's arms. "There is nothing you or I can do to stop this. Fate has decreed that this man will die tonight. I can't refuse to collect his soul. You can't stop the murderer before the crime is committed. There is nothing anyone can do."

"I don't believe that." Kilan practically spat the words at her. In the background, the magicians prepared to play a waltz. "Let go of me!"

She shook her head. "No. You'd only do something incredibly foolish."

Before he knew what was happening she had led him out onto the dance-floor.

"There is nothing anyone can do to stop this murder," she said quietly as they joined the gathering dancers. "But you can help to solve it."

Kilan shook his head. He took care to keep his voice down as he replied. "There must be something I can do to stop it. If I tell the servants to check the lights--!"

"They won't find anything wrong with the lights," Death almost whispered as they bowed to each other and the waltz began. "An accomplice who works in a power station is going to cause a minor power cut all across this part of the city without ever even entering the palace. And how will it look after the murder is committed, if half an hour before you told the servants to check the lights? Won't everyone suspect that you had something to do with the power cut, and so that you were involved in the murder?"

Oh. He hadn't thought of that.

"I can't stand by and let someone be killed," he said grimly as they whirled past a young baron dancing with an earl's daughter.

Death shook her head. There was something almost like sympathy in her eyes."You have no choice. Neither have I. Fate has given us our roles to play in this drama, and we can do only what She wants. I have already gone against Her by warning you this will happen. I am literally incapable of going against Her any further."

Kilan didn't know what made this worse: that she could do nothing, or that she might have if she could. "Then Fate is cruel."

"She is," Death agreed. "Now listen carefully. I can give you no names, but I can tell you as much information as I have about the murderers.

"Not all of your subjects approve of you being Emperor. There is a group who believe that since Arásy gave up her right to the throne, she should also have given up her children's rights to it, and that you are therefore a usurper. These people think your cousin Gialma should be Emperor. And they are plotting to put him on the throne by disgracing you and forcing you to abdicate."

"How can this plot force me to abdicate?" Kilan asked quietly as he twirled her around to the music.

"By itself, it will only cast suspicion on your guards' competence. But they have other plots in place. I don't know the full details of those yet, because they don't speak of them even among themselves. The murderer has been given a knife made of ice. It will melt very quickly after the crime is committed, so there will be no evidence to examine," Death continued.

Well, just when he thought things couldn't get worse...

"What the murderer doesn't know is that such weapons have been used before. The police will consider the possibility of it being used here."

Finally some good news, Kilan thought.

The waltz was drawing to an end. Death leaned closer to finish what she had to say.

"The group have a powerful supporter who would dearly love to see your entire family dead. At some point in the future he will make an attempt on Qihadal's life. If you and she are ready for it, you can find solid proof to incriminate him."

"Is it the Iqui?" Kilan asked.

"No. It's Prince Nalginton, the Iqui's youngest living son. He wants to become Iqui himself. While his older brothers kill each other off, he plans to kill his father. And when he succeeds, he'll come after you -- and Qihadal especially."

Chapter Footnotes:

[1] hairpins = These hairpins aren't like the short hairpins seen today, but are more like Chinese hairpins or the hat-pins women used in Victorian times -- very long and quite sharp, and almost always decorated with jewels or flowers. The reason for this is that long hair is the fashion for everyone in Carann, and consequently long hairpins are needed to secure their hairstyles or hair decorations.