B - Balerie Estibalitz

The club was crowded, and the house lights dim. In the dominion of the thumping music, Balerie danced. Electric spotlights frolicked in time with the melodies, shifting colored gels flashing in staccato tympanic frenzy. The smile on her face was real, as much an effect of the alcohol as the release of the dance. She loved this, much to her family’s dismay. She lived for the clubs and the scene of being seen, the fame of being famous.

A pair of plods bearing the white armor of the Lozou family prowled the club. Goons more than police officers. They didn’t care what happened in the bars and taverns provided there was no singing. Balerie felt the music in her heart, the joy it brought threatening to bust from her, but she held it in. In the privacy of her apartments later, with the doors closed, she would sing her own songs. As the daughter of one of the great families, Balerie waited in no lines, paid for no drinks, and got the best tables and service. It made no difference to the club or tavern owners that the Estibalitz name was the lowest of the great families, her father often derided as the Poopsmith. Never mind his sharp, calculating mind, one shared by Balerie and her older brother Tylis. An Estibalitz sat on the Council, that was what the people knew. And being the daughter of a councilman, no matter the jeering of the elites, still opened doors in the lowers. But to sing? That was a crime even among the council. The plods would carry her off as quickly as any common criminal from the pods or outers.

Tonight, she partied with Emmajin, a woman lacking nobility or position of her own. But Emmajin was an enthusiastic dancer and a bright conversationalist. They held hands as they gyrated on the glass floor, each lost in their own interpretations of the rhythm. Emmajin liked to dance with her eyes closed, surrendering herself to the music. Balerie kept her eyes open, the smile firmly in place, a fixed masque as much as the rest of her act. Part of being seen was the performance she knew. So she performed. Tonight, she put on her show for the pair of men watching from the table at the edge of the dance floor. Equally humorless and stern, the men stood out for their lack of conversation, their eyes firmly locked on Balerie and Emmajin. No doubt, the few words they shared between them were to decide who would win Balerie and who would settle for Emmajin once the night grew late. Not that anyone could tell the difference between Balerie and Emmajin in the dark. What matter titles when the clothes came off? The men’s interest made Balerie smile even brighter. She made a point of shaking her behind in their direction, making sly eye contact over her a bare shoulder framed in thin straps and long black hair.

She knew them both, of course. Garrivan Tudhoran, the eldest son of Cavan who was brother to councilman Luca Tudhoran, and Arris Micha, his second. Garrivan had earned himself some clout in the last skirmish with Ersona, proving himself to be both a gifted tactician and ruthless in victory. A man on the rise, with Micha firmly grasping his scabbard. Maybe literally, Balerie thought.

Behind the men, Balerie caught another pair of eyes watching her intently. Eyes she knew well. Corylle, aide to Shandalle Kane. Balerie recognized the message in the gaze. We need to talk. She nudged Emmajin. “Keep dancing,” she said. “The great warlord is admiring your ass. I’ll be right back.” Emmajin smiled at her and spun away, making an opening for Balerie to wind her way through the crowd, past the two men. Their gaze never left her as she passed, giving them a small grin as enticement.

There was an open seat at Corylle’s table. Balerie sat heavily with her back to the dance floor. “I need two things, Cory,”she shouted over the music. She leaned forward and kissed the surprised woman square on the mouth. “That’s the first one. And that was for Garri, who is no doubt still watching me?”

Coryllle smiled and nodded her understanding. “With very predictable lust in his eyes.”

“Good. The second thing is dubzhiot.” Without asking, Balerie took Corylle’s glass and downed the contents in a single gulp, then belched. “Songs, Cory. Was that chamanas?”

Corylle nodded, a hint of annoyance in her eyes. “Imported from Yelli. Four doses a glass.”

“Shand pays you too well.” Balerie smiled. “Besides, you owe me.”

“Own you, is more like.”

“Should I kiss you again? Partial payment for the drink?” She glanced over her shoulder to see if the men were still watching her. Garrivan was, though Arris had his full attention devoted to Emmajin. Apparently, Garrivan had won their contest of possession. “The show might put some steel in Garri’s sword.”

“No, thank you.” Corylle smiled. “That is not my job. That’s what your friend over there is for.”

“Emmajin is much more than that.”

“I’m sure she is.” A waiter appeared at their table, and Balerie ordered another pair of drinks, opting for the chamanas, knowing that either Corylle or the club would pay for it. She had doses in her purse, of course, but rarely brought them out. Maybe she would have Garrivan and the house of Tudhoran pay her way tonight. There was time yet to see.

“So. You wanted to see me.”

“I did,” Corylle said. “Or else why would I be here?” She leaned in close, so close that her lips brushed Balerie’s ear and her breath was hot on Balerie’s skin. Despite herself, Balerie felt her skin tighten at the touch. “Ander Lozou has done it,” she said. “His army marches in two weeks.”

“Without the council’s blessing?”

“Without their knowledge,” Corylle said. She pulled away as the waiter returned, setting a pair of glasses on the table before bowing away from them, no doubt aware of who it was that he just served.

“Purg, Cory. That’s treason, is it not?”

Corylle shrugged. “So Shandalle thinks. If anyone had the nuggets to pursue justice it would be. But that’s a different day, a different fight.”

“So, who is in this army?”

“The Lozou, of course. One of Marcas Kane’s companies. And…,” she nodded over Balerie’s shoulder.

“Oh. Him. Of course that makes sense.” She picked up a glass of the expensive Yellish liquor and leaned it toward Corylle. “So, what do you need from me?”
 Corylle smiled and leaned in. “Two things,” she said, touching her glass to Balerie’s. “The first,” she said, then kissed Balerie. “Was that. And the second? Well…we need you to do that thing that you do.”

“To be clear…Garrivan?”

“To be clear.”

“Gladly,” Balerie said, glancing over her shoulder again. Garrivan was watching her with an odd intensity. This time she made eye contact and smiled at him. Then she downed her glass and slammed it down. She colllected a small pile of coins that Corylle slid across the table. “This is going to be fun.”

* * *

Corylle left when Balerie returned to the dance floor, leaving a small pile of coins on the table. Nearly forty doses. More than enough for a socialite such as herself to party the night away. Balerie made a point, as she passed him again, to trail a finger along Garrivan’s forearm. He nodded at her, earning her best, slyest smile in return.

A smile that said wait here.

Emmajin was still dancing, earning attention from a small crowd of younger men who circled her like carrion birds. Balerie took her hand and leaned in close.

“Time for you to leave,” she said. Emmajin gave her a hug, then departed without another word, all frivolity gone from her demeanor.

The music played on, and Balerie danced. She passed another hour, and sent a round of drinks to Garrivan and Micha along with a flirtatious wave. When she felt that enough time had passed, she stepped up to Garrivan and whispered in his ear. “Meet me at the room I keep in the pods,” she said. “In twenty minutes.”

“Why not at your apartments?”

Balerie laughed. “You’re nobody, Garrivan Tudhoran.” He bristled, then she ran a hand along his cheekbone. “You’re nobody…for now. My apartments are for somebodies. We’ll save your visit to my apartments for when you’ve become somebody. Don’t ruin this.” She recited the address to him, then nodded to Micha. “And bring your friend,” she said with a wink. “I’m sure he deserves this just as much as you do.”

With that, she left.

There was another club over in Quayside that was becoming popular. A new establishment. One that was sure to be crowded, and one that would welcome a socialite such as herself to boost credibility and prestige. She made her way there, the weight of Corylle’s coins heavy in her purse. Plenty of doses to buy drinks for the crowd. Who would forget that night, when the daughter of a councilman treated the whole bar to a drink? No one would question where Balerie had been the night before, as long as her hangover was fierce enough to be believed.

Garrivan and Micha would meet Emmajin in the pods. Their bodies would be in the grub farms by dawn. And they’d never suspect a thing before it happened.

No one could tell Balerie apart from Emmajin in the dark.

* * *

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