“My father was Erik, Duke of Valdemar,” he said evenly. “His father was Werther, Duke of Valdemar. His father was Ugo, Duke of Valdemar. His father was Hrothgar, Duke of Valdemar. His father was Polmar, Duke of Valdemar. His father was Lokan, Duke of Valdemar.” He continued on for more generations of Dukes of Valdemar, until the Count’s eyes had glazed over, everyone within hearing range had been made aware that his lineage and title went back a very long time indeed, and he had cemented that his pedigree was every bit as good as any of theirs—and probably better than most, and certainly dated back to when the Emperor had merely been a High King. He finished with, “And Lerren, Duke of Valdemar, was made Duke by High King Sonat the First—for establishing the line of Chargers and horsing every one of the Conquering Knights of the Realm, I’m told, although that could just be family myth.” And he laughed. “I did say it pays to know your pedigrees.”

The Duke brayed with laughter, looking directly at the Count, and the Count flushed an angry red. Hmm. Could be the Count’s title is rather shiny and new.

“So it does, Valdemar,” said the Duke genially. “So it does.”

The mage-lights in the enormous dining chamber dimmed and turned a pale green, which made everyone look as if they were slightly bilious and seemed to be the signal that it was time to leave the table. Kordas followed the Duke at a discreet distance, and discovered that they were all expected to mingle in an adjoining, equally large room, where there were more musicians and an open floor for dancing. Star stayed quietly at his elbow and said nothing as he found himself an out-of-the-way corner by an alcove that contained an extraordinarily realistic and extraordinarily bland statue of a heroic figure in full armor. Probably an Emperor. If not the current one, then at least one of his ancestors.

He was exhausted. This entire evening had been more of a drain on his emotional and mental resources than he could have imagined. He hoped that he could remain ignored for the rest of the night.

Fortunately, it appeared that there were things that were far more interesting right now than he was. The company was mixed, although most of the women sat along the walls. There was a pattern there, clusters of young women heavily supervised by a single older one. Probably sisters and a mother or aunt. Men would come and ask them to dance, and the older woman would either look pleased or stern—the young ones would go to dance regardless, but if the chaperone looked stern, they would return once a single dance was over.