“Oh, yes. Well, trust him. That entire set is gambling-mad. They’ll be there all day.”

“And so will Jocastel’s, and I doubt that any of them will be watching even the middle of the races.” A knowing tone crept into the young man’s voice. “Redric may have snared most of the ladies, but Jocastel got the keys to his father’s wine cellar.”

The first one snorted. “Idiots. The lot of them. You can guzzle wine anytime, but when is there likely to be another Ice Festival in our lifetimes? The last one was over fifty years ago, and every champion skater who could get here in time is going to be in the races today! Listen, the big races will begin as soon as the Queen comes back out—I’m for hunting down one of those broom-ball tournaments I’ve heard of. The Terilee might thaw, but the pond up at the old pile will hold for months yet, and I’ve a mind to get a bunch of the lads together and try the game out ourselves!”

“Oh, now there’s a plan!” enthused the second, and both of them moved away, gesturing at each other.

Well, that explained why there was no one here to speak of… a gambling party in a warehouse, a drinking party in a rented house, and that pretty much accounted for most of the youngsters of the Court.

Alberich wandered over to the vicinity of a quintet of older men, who were glaring at the young ladies on the dock with disapproval and muttering at each other. “What are their fathers thinking?” grumbled one, just as Alberich got within earshot. “The idea! Going off to some rented hovel unescorted—”

“Oh, it isn’t the daylight hours that I would be concerned about,” said another sourly. “But who’s to say what’s going to happen when the Feast is going on and some of them slip off, unsupervised?”

Alberich eavesdropped shamelessly a little more, learning only that most of the “younger sets” weren’t even planning to come down to the Royal Enclosure until the sun set. The older courtiers would be trickling in during the late afternoon, but they weren’t the ones Alberich was concerned with.

He returned the skewer to the care of the cooks, and drifted back to Selenay’s Royal Pavilion feeling heartily annoyed at humankind in general and that feckless lot of highborn in particular. Hang it all! Why couldn’t all those eager parents insist that the young men come down here to dance attendance on the young—and eligible—Queen? Why were they allowing their offspring to gamble and drink away the afternoon without even trying to steal moments of Selenay’s time? What were they thinking?