"My lady, even behind that mask I can tell the tales of your beauty are true.
She laughs.
"You shameless flatterer, you haven't heard tale of me. If you even know who I am it is as my mother's daughter."
She's not lying. Actually you had gotten the impression that Aoife's daughter was much younger, people always talked about how young she was, but she looks about your age and you're indisputably a man grown.
Would you care to dance?"
"I'd be delighted," she says.
There's a dance floor further towards the center of the room, occupied only by a few scattered faces not important enough for your to recognize immediately. A very expensive but depressingly orthodox band plays that same song that every orthodox band plays at every dance ever. The title is something about the Emperor and Glory. You forget.
Igraine allows you to lead her by the hand and onto the dance floor, where you begin one of the repetitive and minimalistic close-dances of the aristocracy.
"I saw you speaking with Calligos Winterscale earlier," says Igraine "Are you close friends?"
"Whipped dog? WHIPPED DOG?"
Kantor stumbles to his feet.
"You can't talk at me like I'm not a hero I am! I'll the man who shows you!"
He fumbles for his weapon, and has started to attract attention. Darrel, in particular, notices right away. This could be it. The moment an actual party emerges from this funeral dirge.