10 - Adir

       I rest my glass on the piano, and lean to embrace Nila, who laughs lightly at the gesture.
       “You have forgiven me, then?”
       “Whatever was there to forgive?” I query with a smile, raising an eyebrow. “You were simply in error. I have accepted this, and moved on from it.”
       He laughs, shaking his head. “If you insist. I shall not argue with you on it again – the subject has lost its novelty, we ought to find a new one.”
       “I am certain we shall do so.”
       He nods his ascent, and meets the eyes of a naiad carrying a tray. She draws near, weaving through the scattered groups as a dolphin through schools of smaller fish. As she moves, light scatters from her, for the gauzy fabric with which she is draped is set with a thousand tiny crystals and pearls. She is a hazy vision of soft sea green and misty violets, each layer of fabric so thin as to be nearly invisible, wrapped in casual disarray around her slim form, covering her smooth flesh completely or not at all, depending on her motion. A band of netting is wrapped around her throat, strung with still more pearls and diamonds. How long has Meres planned this event, that he has planned out so many fine details! Each girl, in her costuming alone, seems to tell the story of some particular fantastic creature.
       “Sirs.” She bobs in a slight curtsy, her voice a low murmuring brook. Nila takes a delicate crystal flute of palest yellow champagne, the minute bubbles dancing through the glass, as though the diamonds which wrap around the stem have escaped into the lambent liquid. I take one as well, setting the nearly-empty glass from the piano onto her tray. She bobs again, as though in the water, and moves on again through the crowd.
       Nila lets his eyes drift over the crowd, and I can almost hear the notes he makes to himself, recording the myriad details of who speaks to whom, who seems to avoid another, who merely makes eye contact and who is wrapped in sensual embrace, who dances and who is silent against the wall. While Luce is often the corruption of relationships, Nila is in the business of sculpting new ones. He is best of us all at finding new playthings for us, best of us all at knowing which persons should meet and in what circumstances.
       “I see that Mephisto is quite inseparable from David,” he notes with a slight frown. “I had thought he would become infatuated, but this has gone even beyond my expectations.”
       I chuckle softly. “Has it? You know how deeply the theater affects him, and how he lives within those false passions. David is young enough that those passions are entirely real to him – and so, while we all know he is merely young and impetuous, Mephisto believes in the boy's sincerity.”
       “The boy is sincere... though foolish.”
       “All youth is.”
       Nila grins wryly. “It has been so long since we were young... I suppose Meph has forgotten this.”
       “Or simply choses to ignore it, as I am sure he finds more comfort in believing the boy's earnestness.”
       “I suppose he does. Still, I am surprised he has not found fault yet. The boy is a lovely singer, but so naïve, that it is a wonder he has not said something to provoke Meph's wrath.”
       “Mmm. And he does not forgive so easily as I.”
       Nila laughs. “And that is saying quite a bit! For you scarcely let go of a wrong, yourself.”
       “Nila, dearest, however can you say such a thing?” I laugh in return, and finish my glass. Almost at once, there is a fresh one to hand – though this is now a liquid of palest green. Absinthe, I should think. I sip it lightly, and Nila continues his observations.
       “Cerise is doing quite well – I am happy to see she has not lost her charm. She is such an unspoiled white rose, just opening to flower. I was concerned that her sweetness would disappear, in her new pursuit of learning the darker arts. Yet she is as fresh as the day I first saw her – she will dress in no black weeds, nor let her fingers idle in meddling in the lives of others. Have we ever seen a psychic with such a pure heart?”
       “I suppose not. You don't expect she will always maintain that childlike innocence, do you?”
       He sighs sadly, taking a slow drink. “I wish that she might... she is quite a breath of fresh air, in our dim and murky world.”
       “You ought to keep Luce away from her.”
       He laughs bitterly at this. “I ought to keep Luce away from all of my little gifts! But never shall it be. He is too eager. And, I will admit, he is too adept at his own handling of others. Though it pains my pride to see my plans spoiled by his interventions, in the end I am forced to admire his results. Still – I should like to keep Cerise a little longer.”
       We both turn our gazes to look at her, as she sits lightly on a rock beside one of the mermaid girls. They are both laughing, playing with the bubbles the mermaid blows from her delicate loop of wire. Cerise is dressed in a frothy confection of the palest blues, all ruffles and lace, her hands and arms wrapped in silk and ribbons. Her porcelain skin makes all the more dramatic her soft violet eyes. In her hair are woven gauzy ribbons of periwinkle, and tiny crystals are set among the gentle waves of pale blond. Both she and the mermaid seem entirely enchanted with each other, and the murky shadows of the party fade away around their bright circle of innocence. Such a lovely little vision...
       Nila makes a soft sound in his throat, and I turn my gaze to follow his. Meres and Veri stand near each other beside a doorway, and the coldness in Veri's gaze is almost tangible. Claude is at Meres' side, looking up at him in a mixture of timid bewilderment and petulant obstinacy. The boy presses a hand to Meres' arm, gesturing him toward the curtained entry. Meres shrugs him off, and continues to stare at Veri, frowning.
       “Have you any idea what their dispute is, Nila?”
       He shakes his head slowly, continuing to stare at the tableau. “I have a few guesses, but I do not know for certain. They were separated at the rose party for quite some time, and I suspect Veri felt slighted by something in this. Honestly, how he can expect Meres to pass on every little pleasure, in order to attend to his tiresome demands, is beyond me. Veri's selfishness is a constant wonder to me.”
       “Yet Meres continually indulges him.”
       “I know... it is quite strange to me.”
       We sip our drinks for a long moment, and the three figures in the distance remain motionless. Then Claude makes another attempt to attract Meres' attention, and Meres snaps some rebuke to him, causing the boy to shrink away. I would suspect he is near tears, yet he remains at Meres' side. Odd.
       “What has Claude to do with it?”
       “Meres has been lavishing a good deal of attention on that boy – desperate to enjoy as much of Claude as he can before Luce gets to him, I expect. For Luce is eager to play with Father Douglas, and though he will do so directly, he will also use Claude toward this end.”
       “You knew this when you brought Claude to us, I presume?”
       “I did. Yet it has not entirely played out as I had expected... this scene, I most certainly did not foresee,” he comments with a smile. He sips from his glass and watches them as actors on a stage, completely engrossed by every nuance of their gazes and motions. We can hear none of the words from this distance, but it hardly matters – they speak so loudly in their every gesture. Meres has taken a step closer to Veri, and I can see some attempt at reconciliation on his face. Yet Veri continues to stare coldly, and takes a step back. He mutters something short, and Meres appears sad, then angry. He makes a retort, some accusation, and Veri... almost looks apologetic. He replies without rancor, and Meres, though still somewhat angry, appears to accept it. He sighs, shaking his head, looking away from Veri. Veri continues to look at Meres, but a longing creeps into his gaze, and though I have little sympathy for Veri, I can hardly help but feel a pang at such sadness.
       Meres says something – not to Veri, but to Claude, who still lingers near. The boy nearly jumps, his face alight and--- victorious, I believe. Meres moves coolly toward the exit, and Claude almost struts beside him.
       Nila laughs. “Claude believes he has won Meres' affections away from Veri. Such a naïve child! I can hardly believe how blind the boy is, for all his ability with the visual realm. He can paint a flower in every minute detail, yet cannot see how he is being played, as a mere toy in the endless game between Meres and Veri.”
       “Meres will tire of him soon, I suspect.”
       “Quite rightly so. We shall continue to admire the boy for his lovely paintings, but I expect his personality will be soon ignored, once we have gained the priest.”
       I raise an eyebrow at this, smiling. “You really think we shall?”
       He smiles broadly at me, his eyes shining. “We most certainly shall.” He waves over a serving girl, and takes two fresh glasses from the tray, handing one to me. He lifts his glass, and I clink mine to his. “To our future successes,” he comments warmly. We tilt the coral-hued wine toward our lips, and sip it leisurely, watching the endless play unfolding around us.