I walked to the left side where the wait staff were bustling about the double-doors to the caterer's station, and I politely smiled away two waiters offering strong drink, and caught one with an empty tray headed towards the kitchen. "Pardon me, could I trouble you for a glass of water, with lemon wedges? Thank you." I moved not far from there, and started a brief touch-base conversation with the Pinking baroness from the Greifir dinner.

  We had seen each other just a couple weeks before so there is not much catching up, but we did discuss a little about the upcoming evening and events. She complimented my dress, and I told her that it was my attempt to stay at the cutting edge of styles. "I'm supposing that this will be the next couture," I said to her. "Or perhaps I could be a trendsetter."

  "Ah, even your regarded powers of prophecy are unable to pin the winds of dress fashion?" she teased me back. We laughed together.

  The waiter brought me my drink on a tray, and I thanked him and dismissed him. I had made sure several people saw a waiter bringing me a single drink of my own, in a room where waitstaff circulate with prepared glasses. It's a cheap low-stakes power move, but I need to build my momentum early. And a self-aggrandizing power-play can pay more dividends than you'd expect. Some of it is the subconscious effect on others, but also it helps the dabblers and newcomers to identify who is important. And those make the best sycophants, and sycophants signal even more power.

  And I gotta get started fast because at a minimum there's going to be eight or nine members of the royal family in this room tonight.

  Probably not the queen or the Crown Princess, but certainly some cousins, aunts, and guaranteed that Lachel is going to be here- her first Fashion Week after debut, same as mine. She could no more afford to miss this than I could. The shame of it is that I have to avoid her too, I cannot commit to being cozy with Freckentop or hostile towards them, not at this event.

  No, for this I need to keep a specific coterie around me. Harigolds, Harigold allies, and the general population. The vestibule crowd, as it were. The ones that are not of the high society and its social circles, but consider themselves to be, with no strong House affiliation or relation. The ones that will attend two-to-five gala per year and think they have a lustrous and exciting social schedule. The people that are so happy to see someone they recognize that they will stop in place to chat with them.

  First, inner circle. This one I don't get to choose, I just need to find them.

  The gallery space is large, and filled with seating arrayed around the stage. Right now, fashion events are held like a beauty pageant, but I intend to introduce the runway as a novel invention soon enough. A collection of refreshment tables ring the walls, and waiters swarming in and out of the kitchens are bringing elegant finger-foods to anyone who is patient enough not to rush for the tables. So, I know roughly where to look. Without stepping away from the baroness or relinquishing our banter, I seek with my eyes, and I spot them. Of course they're all together.

  I am curving silk this night, and Wendy is wearing a gingham-checked red-and-white dress with silk collar. I tug at it from fifty feet away, and she turns as if someone tapped her shoulder. When she spotted me she beamed and waved. I saw her turn her head to tell her brother Bruce and our cousin Petty, then turn to smile again at me.

  With a smaller gesture I waved back, and gestured to the Pinking baroness and then waved Wendy over to me. She and Bruce and Petty all moseyed over with plates of snacks, and I introduced all around. The baroness excused herself shortly after, and we cousins chatted in a friendly way for a moment.

  "Oh, but I do need a favor," I said. "There was a lord inspector of the treasury, Nesdor. I spotted him in the foyer when I was coming in, but I needed to drop off at coat check. I was supposed to find him again but there were too many people. Petty, you're tall enough to give a complex, could I trouble you to find the man and bring him over? I can't hear myself think out there."

  Petty chuckled. "Can't see over the front row, eh? I don't know what he looks like though."

  Like most very tall people, she enjoys using her height to help the rest of us out. But she does have to say something about it when she does. It's a tall-people thing..

  I curved water and flicked the water up out of my glass, swirling it through the air before forming a ball, then shaping it into Nesdor's face, and froze it solid and frosted it over so the details were visible. I rotated it slowly, melted it instantly, then reformed it to a model of his whole body, and refroze to show him off.

  Bruce leaned on his cane and adjusted his glasses. "My word. I never expect what magic is going to be useful for. You can't use it to find the man, but you can do this," he gestured at the water refilling my glass. I left some slivers of ice in.

  I shrugged. "Well, the only way I could find him is by flying over the crowd, and I refuse to do that in this dress." Petty chortled, and I touched her forearm. "Thank you Petty. He may have his wife with him today. I've not seen him for a great many years, please don't take no for an answer."

  "Do I look like someone people say no to?" she blustered. "C'mon Wendy. Just in case we need a gentler hand."

  Bruce bowed sarcastically. "This makes me your date then."

  He looked so much like Nathan it was quite eerie. I could suspect it was Nathan trying to fool me with a Clark Kent act, except that Nathan shows up in my sorcerous senses. I can only use magic to perceive objects I share high affinity with. And before he was born, before I was reborn, Nathan's soul and mine merged for a few seconds. Enough that I have a magical affinity for him, if not a personal one. With any other person, my magic only sees a blank space that displaces all other materials. But when I close my eyes and listen to the essence, Nathan is there.

  Bruce on the other hand is a blank space that resembles my brother when I trust my eyes.

  We chitchatted, he complimented my makeup. "Most young ladies straight off their debut try to play the ingenue, plying for sympathies and clemency to rake whatever favor they can. You have clearly set a different path."

  "I can hardly trade on my reputation as a precocious genius with valuable information if I'm also trying to present myself as the naif," I pointed out. "I'm sure there are actresses that could thread that needle but gods know I'm not passing that audition. So I need something mature, sophisticated, complex. And the 'harmless inoffensive heiress' niche might be overpopulated."

  He grinned by just letting half his face sneer. "Ah. You reason that if anyone comes looking for you, they already know you're the dangerous type. So why apologize, right?"

  That wasn't quite right. "Not about apologizing, just about... recognizing our role."

  His smile was less ironic. And less of a smile. "You think that being... dangerous... is your role?"

  I did not need to answer that question because someone was yelling "Hello again princess!" Lord Inspector Nesdor shuffled towards us with his prim little wife at his side. She had a darling little pillbox hat with a long pheasant feather arching back rakishly, but her dress was bunched, gathered, and darted until it was quite shapeless. She did not walk well, and held to her husband's wrist for support.

  "Ah, yes, Lord Nesdor, thank you again!" I said cheerily. They pulled up right alongside us, with Petty and Wendy quickly behind, forming a decent-sized conversational group. I waited until he was two steps away, and I raised my glass to drink. I timed it correctly, it stopped him trying to go for a face-kiss until after the timing would be awkward, and so he stood back and let me go unmussed.

  "Your ladyship," he said, bowing at the waist. "My wife, Maquey. You've not met, she does not travel with me when I am in the field, doing Their Majesties' bidding. My dear, this is Princess Natalie Harigold, the musician I had told you about from the south. And with her, er -"

  "Lady Nesdor," I said, curtsying to the older lady. "My cousins here, are Petunia, Bruce, and Bruce's sister my cousin Wendy. How do you do?"

  She leaned closer with a trembling hand tapping at my wrist. "Did you really use the thunder itself as a musical instrument?"

  I smiled into her bright, joyful eyes. "I did. A bit of magic. I would demonstrate here, but it would cause far too much trouble, too much noise for the space."

  She sighed but she understood. Lord Nesdor rolled his eyes. "I should thank you for asking your cousins to fetch me out, princess. I was trapped in conversation with such a bore of a man! But your ladyships were just the excuse I needed to untangle myself. My gratitude to you all. This man wanted to talk, of all things, about the repercussions of trade embargoes. Now that staple crops out of Meadowtam are going to be restricted it's going to boost export from Anquarry and Jangale, which in turn impacts the feed of livestock from Woadrun and Pierazard. But if the minster of Bismoque-"

  "Dear," his wife interrupted.

  "- a moment, dear. So this utter bore wanted to regale at length about how the cattle culls and grazing public lands in the provinces was going to shift more dairy production from soft cheeses to-"

  "Dear. You can't tell them why he was a bore without, yourself, being a bore," his wife said more strongly.

  He looked surprised. "Damn me! Sorry, princess, but my wife is quite correct and I've been quite a dull pedant. Sorry, I rarely attend these galas in the city, you know."

  I was frowning. "Wait, his claim was that cattle culls would require more aged cheeses than soft cheeses? Because he, what, thinks that there will be overproduction of milk? Does he not know that milch cows without-"

  Bruce set a hand on my wrist. "Cousin Natalie. We can find the bore for you if you like, but maybe this is not the time."

  A waiter came around with a round of champagne flutes, and the Nesdors and Harigolds each took one. I set my ice water onto the tray and requested he bring me another chilled water with lemon wedges.

  "I see you glancing back at the vestibule, Lord Nesdor, do you see someone familiar?" I asked.

  He harrumphed. "I do; Ediscod, a sharp-tongued man, but influential. He sets the docket for the appeals claims for the city of Hearstcliff, which means his favor is one of the shortest routes to the attention of the High Council. And-"

  My water arrived, and I held it nearby without drinking. A glass of something to drink is a prop, something to have and do with. It can emphasize gestures, give a convenient excuse to take a few extra seconds before speaking, it can be spilled, saved, sat down, moved from hand to hand, or what have you. Having a drink, even water, gives you more options. I considered the influential bureaucrat with his influential bureaucraft. The problem was that though he was wearing Eyellon colors, orange and purple, he sounded like he was deeply embedded in Freckentop business. Having a tax assessor at my side was one thing, an honorary position that traveled frequently. But someone that sets priorities and procedures is trusted, and that means someone controlled and observed.

  "Influential is all well and good, but he does not sound pleasant company," I said. "Ah, who is this waving at us?"

  Wendy was the one who spoke up. "Oh! That's a friend, she's in charge of compliance and standards for the import division. Hi Theila!"

  Well after that the obvious solution was to send cousins out to the vestibule to pull in anyone they could, right? Bit by bit we got the whole Harigold organization clustered up together while the other houses were still sorting out their pecking orders. Any time someone came in I made introductions, got to know how they were related to me, got great big energy going, and sent them to bring me any relations I hadn't met yet and then introduced them off to someone else so that their conversation keep them nearby. This let me effectively corral all of Harigold's organization in a space, to really gather an appearance of strength. I'm certain that the savvier ones saw what I was doing, but most of these people did not regularly attend, so for them this was almost a big family reunion.

  Some of the lesser houses or minor houses I had never even met in person before this, but they were still staunch allies. The Thurls, the Chylers, the Sigourney family. They all seemed surprised to be included, but I was pursuing some big-tent politics. I guess most House leaders try to keep an elite cadre, but I wanted a show of strength. This is Spring Fashion Week, where people get first impressions ahead of the coming season. And during that big week, all the house politics trendsetters, shot-callers and power-brokers set their strategy for the next six months.

  I wanted their strategies to include me as a force to be respected, courted, and bargained with. I don't necessarily want to disrupt everyone's action, I don't want to make such a big splash that people have to throw out their old plans. But if everyone's plans and schemes and alliances all bend a little bit? That's what I'm going for.

  I glanced around occasionally to see what was going on. The other houses were not packing in like we were, but I was organizing Harigold around me, the others did not have that influence. They were breaking into factions or blending with allies. I was even pulling in the cadet houses, anyone with second step-cousins or whatever. The spinoffs and lesser houses, our side continued swelling. I caught side of Elica with the Brunbling people at one point, and I was surprised that she was near the outskirts, assigned to a hanger-on position. But that had to be a mistake, she's an earl in her own right!

  Freckentops came in, fashionably late with the intention to monopolize conversation with awe once they arrived. Several of them, all in a row, with some real pageantry. Probably a rehearsed move. Ducklings in a row, one after another. I'll bet that entrance would have mattered so much more if the foyer had been clear of obstructions and the people in that knotted crowd could hear the introductions. As it is, I've got a view of them at least. I can spot a non-inheriting cousin, a dowager-earl, a regent-countess, an uncle from the merchant branch, a couple of more distant cousins, the king's sister-in-law, and Princess Lachel.

  If I had to guess, I'd say they're probably holding all their heavy-hitters and major name recognition figures for the later days of Fashion Week itself, as if this event was some low-rent also-ran consolation prize. Or, to keep the impact from wearing off. Of the royal princesses, Lachel is the youngest and least likely to inherit, so having her here is to have a princess in attendance but to save the more powerful princesses for later. This was only opening night, after all, and for everyone else this was a marathon, not a sprint. I had to treat it as a sprint because I'm at school the rest of the week.

  The royal Freckentops are all dressed in identical shades, the red and green of their house's colors. Blood on the grass, roses on the hill. Warriors of old turned to warriors of gold, they were now investors and financiers, who bought and sold armies rather than leading them. The colors of their coats and gowns are matched to their cosmetics and accessories, a couple of them have dyed their hair to match as well. Very committed to the solidarity.

  Unlike my big-tent approach, they've clearly elected for the 'elite cadre' look, to keep visibility on their highest-ranked and most-influential members. The entourages, valets, hangers-on and retinue were dragging behind like a stern wake or a bridal train, V-shaped crowd spreading behind. It formed an arrow aimed straight at the royals, directing all attention right there. They moved with stately authority, a ponderous sense of importance.

  But there is a problem with making such a big entrance and demanding all the attention in the room. And that is that you have all the attention in the room.

  "Hey Petunia?"

  "Yes Natalie?"

  "You go by Petty, right?" I started mustering the sorcery, curving silk.

  "I do," she said, with half a question in her tone. Almost but not quite where are you going with this?

  "But if you're Petty, and I'm petty, then who's driving the cart?"

  Princess Lachel's skirt caught on her shoe, and her next stately step caught the toe of her shoe on her other heel, and with a "whup!" she went down.

  thud

  She did not quite face-plant, but it was close. A gasp ran through the room, shock and horror!

  Petty didn't get my joke. "Ah, it's all right," I said to her in the silence of amazed scandal through the room. "That joke would have killed it back home."